Patricide
by silver ruffian
Summary: Dean's feelings of abandonment by the two people he loves most leaves him wide open for demonic manipulation. Multi-chap story. Hurt!Dean, Daddy issues, Sam bashing, Dean whumpage, and general all around weirdness. NOW COMPLETE
1. and the walls came tumbling down

_**A/N:**_ Happy birthday, Phoebe! This twisted fairy tale is canon, and it's all for you! It's already completed, in four parts.

_**POV:**_ Dean Winchester

_**Summary:**_ Sam left for Stanford over a month ago; Dean hasn't seen John in two weeks. Dean's feelings of abandonment by the two people he loves most leave him wide open to demonic manipulation. There's fevered!Dean, angst, and Daddy issues in this one. Also, cussing and Dean whumpage, some of it self inflicted.

**_Disclaimer:_** Don't own 'em; Eric's lettin' me play with the boys for a while.

* * *

**Chapter one - and the walls came tumbling down**

My knees ache.

No…that's not right….been cooped up in this damn place for days, waiting for Dad to come back…had to get out for a while, get some air…

I can't…I can't feel my arms.

That's not right… not real…

One of the cops punched me in the face when they took me down. Left eye's swollen shut, and from the way my right arm is tingling I'm pretty sure I got nerve damage from when they stomped me.

…son of a bitch…I remember walking back to the motel room…my head felt cold and funny…everything went white…

I'm tied up like some fucking Thanksgiving turkey, and the Brainerd County cops stand around me in a semicircle under a full moon, waiting in this parking lot for the thing they've protected all these years to come and feed on me.

…none of this is real….

They're inside my head.

The head sonofabitch in charge is wearing my face and body and a sheriff's uniform. He looks like Dudley DoRight with the hat on.

"You went on this job a year ago." He looks around, frowning like he just doesn't get it. He waves his hand at the scene around us. "Those were the good old days, huh Dean? Everything was fine as long as Daddy and Sammy were around."

I lift one corner of my swollen mouth in a snarl. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on." My throat hurts. My voice is so rough I don't sound right to myself.

Dudley blinks, and for a moment I can see a faint red glow underneath the green in his eyes.

The faces and bodies of the deputies shift and melt into something else. Long black robes. Grayish-blue skin like worn leather, silver eyes, rams' horns and scales.

I drop my head when he kneels down in front of me, and I don't look at him directly. My vision blurs and I see what this bastard really looks like. He's tall, taller than Sam, broader. Pale albino skin, short whitish-blond hair, and blue tattoos all over his body.

His eyes flash red and then he looks just like me in that damn uniform.

I keep smelling water. I can hear it, dripping, sloshing around.

"You think you can outlast them?" NotMe grins at me, same damn smirk I use to irritate the hell outta Sammy. Or cops, for that matter. God, I want to smash his face in. "Put up shit like this sad little memory to block them? You can't. You won't. They were old when the earth was molten rock back in the day."

He puts his hand on the top of my spine, and the bastard strokes my back like I'm his friggin' dog or something. I flinch when he touches me – his palm is too damn warm, almost hot, and the heat goes right through my thin grey tshirt into my chilled skin.

"Yeah. Geez, you're right." I shake my head. "What the hell was I thinking? Tell you what, I'm gonna stand up and bend over, and you and all these hell bound freaks can line up behind me, pucker up and kiss my sad little human ass."

I expect to get hit for mouthing off. What he does next bothers me even more.

He ignores me, like I didn't even say anything. And that damn hand of his keeps moving on my back.

I finally recognize the bit with the hand for what it is: ownership. _Your ass belongs to us now, boy, and there's not a damned thing you can do about it._

"You're a freak," he says smugly. "Everyone you've ever loved will leave you."

I groan, roll my good right eye. What is it with these demon bastards and their monologuing? Do they practice this shit down in Hell in front of a mirror?

I growl at him again, roll my shoulders, try to shake that hand off my back.

Nothing I do works.

"We're all here to help you, Dean. You may not believe that, but we don't mean you any harm. We want to set you free, but first we have to break down some walls. It's for your own good. Don't you ever get tired of doing everything your Dad asks, and getting nothing in return?"

"Shut up."

"All that shit you took from Sam the last four years."

"Shut the fuck up, you sonofabitch ---"

"You took care of your Dad and your brother, bled for them, nearly died for them. And it's not enough. It never is enough. By the way, where _is _John, Dean? You haven't seen him in two weeks. Huh. Funny, isn't it? Once Sam left ol' John boy just didn't even care enough about you to stick around. So much for loyalty to the Corps. Semper Fi."

"I don't want to hear those names coming out of your damn mouth." I snarl at him, but instead of sounding badass I just sound hoarse. Not the effect I was going for.

NotMe shrugs. "Well, it's really_ your_ damn mouth, but, whatever, dude." I see red pinpoints where his eyes should be, and the red expands and grows until it fills his eye sockets. "Let's give our guests a taste of what you're hiding, all right?"

Something sharp and pointed reaches inside my head, grabbing and pulling, and my head rocks back. I want to scream, but the only sound I can make is a choked off moan.

* * *

Lawton, Texas, two years ago. Fugly we were hunting was a 'geist with a really bad attitude and damn good aim. I zigged when I should have zagged and the bastard nailed me with a dining room table and a sofa, but not before I got him with that spell Dad cooked up.

Dad's rented a house for the summer, so we're in town until I recover. First day back from the hospital, and I'm sitting in an overstuffed chair in the living room. I shift in the chair just enough to get comfortable, but that's kind of hard since I'm bandaged pretty tight from my chest to my belly. The drugs have taken the edge off, and I'm floating, but it's not enough. I can feel the pain just below the surface of my skin, lurking, just waiting to come back up.

Sam and Dad are in the kitchen. Forget the pain pills, I start feeling bad all over as soon as I hear their voices.

"He wouldn't have gotten hurt if it hadn't been for that halfassed plan of yours," Sam hisses.

"What the hell are you saying, Sam?" Dad snaps. He sounds pissed enough to bite steel in half with his teeth. "Are you saying that I wanted him to get hurt?"

_Oh, God no. Sammy, don't say it. Don't —_

"That's exactly what I am saying," Sam snaps back. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the cushions.

"You _want_ to keep him here with you. You_ need_ to keep him here with you." I can imagine the two of them standing toe to toe in the kitchen: Sam with his chin thrust forward, Dad standing there nose to nose with him, refusing to back down even an inch. "He's your good little soldier, not your oldest son. That's all you care about, Dad, and you know it."

Fuck it, I can't take all these fights much longer. Over the last year it's been getting worse. Sam's hands curl up into fists when he's around Dad for too long, and I've noticed Dad has started doing the same thing.

I've gotten hit a couple of times when I stepped in between them. I don't know what else to do. We're all that's left of my family, and it shouldn't be like this.

I make a move to get out of the chair and my body lets me know right from the start that's a damn bad idea. Chest feels like it's going to split in two, right down the middle, hard enough to make me dig my nails into the padded arm rest as the room starts spinning around me. I try to yell out "Dad" or "Sam", but I can't make a sound.

I'm in the living room, surrounded by that lousy looking rose wallpaper all around. Next thing I know I'm on my knees, my nose pushed up against the floor. My hands are tied behind my back. It's not worn hard wood, it's white tile, slick and wet.

They're all around me. They're all around me…

…boy…

Hissing, roaring, screeching in the air around me. My brain's slashed with every sound, every word.

…let us in....

Blood runs out of my right ear and down my shoulder.

…so exquisite…

Fingers brush against the side of my jaw, and I jerk back and away from the touch.

... so much pain in one so young…

"Fuck every last one of you sons of bitches!" I sound stronger than I really feel. Doesn't last though. They shut me up quick. My vocal chords freeze up and I can't even whisper.

They grab hold of me again, and this time when they slip into me my body jerks sideways. Something inside my head comes crashing down, and my knees tremble under the weight of it. My head hurts like a bitch. I'm so fucking tired, I just want it all to stop....

_You can't fight us all...._

The shtriga in Fort Douglas,Wisconsin almost kills Sam, and it's my fault. I shouldn't have left him alone like that. I was only a kid, but damn it, I knew better. I disobeyed a direct order, and Dad ignored me for a solid fucking month.

That wall comes down.

It's not the one they're looking for.

…_I'm alone…_

Sam slams his duffel bag down on the bed. Damn, I've never seen him so angry. "You want to stay here with Dad, Dean? That's fine. You can be his brainwashed little toy soldier for the rest of your natural life."

That wall comes crashing down.

I'm a split second too late to prevent that family in Ohio from being slaughtered. After I kill the freakish son of a bitch I notice that the two little sisters died in each other's arms. I have a

death grip on my pistol, but it's useless. _I'm _useless. I turn away. I drop to my knees and I can't stop shaking all over.

I can smell water, but I look up and Momma's lying on the ceiling of Sammy's nursery bleeding from her middle. This bad smell fills my nose and I can't breathe.

I'm scared.

Daddy looks so scared.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back. Now, Dean, go!"

Sammy cries and squirms as I hold him tight to my chest. I run, fast, stumbling, and as I run I hear Daddy yell out "Mary!" and my heart thumps too loud in my chest.

Another wall down. The oldest one. The first one I ever....

_Oh, God...not...not that one..._

_I'm sorry...Mom, I'm sorry I let them in...I'm so sorry..._

Another hunt, another fuck up. Canton, Ohio. The Gates family, Arthur and Rosalie. Killed their only child, Anne Marie. Offered her up as a sacrifice to some dog-faced Sumerian fug. Dad and I got arrested by the sheriff, who just happened to be Rosalie's clueless brother. We broke out of jail, got there just in time to watch Anne Marie's mother slit her throat from ear to ear with that ceremonial knife.

I see Dad and I stopping the demon from rising, cleaning up the mess. It's my mess. Three more seconds, and I could have saved her. Three fucking seconds. My fault. My fault, not Dad's…

They linger around this one, and I don't know why.

The next wall's the second oldest. Black stone. It's the one I keep adding to.

They slip inside my head again, clawing, grabbing. Holes in the wall now…

_...Dad didn't have my back…_

I throw my head back, and my mouth opens, and I hear myself making this high thin gasping sound. I'm on my feet again and I don't even remember getting up.

_What did I do wrong? Why did Dad leave me like this?_

Every muscle in my body is stretched tight, and sooner or later I'm going to snap like an overstrung wire.

_I do everything I can for this fucking family, and they don't appreciate it. They never do…_

All around me the voices howl in delight, like they know they've hit the fucking mother lode,

I bleed from both ears this time.

What's inside the wall comes pouring out, and it's cold and its hot, and it's pale and red with teeth ---

_Dad couldn't keep Mom safe. Can't keep me and Sam safe. I got his back, but he never has mine…_

And it screams

_Tired of this shit. It's not fair, why does it have to be me all the time?_

And it sounds just like me.

_I see the way Sam looks at me sometimes, like he's so fucking smart, better than me, taller than me…_

It_ is_ me.

Just when I think I can't take it anymore, my vision clears, and everything stops. I stagger sideways and fall to my knees. I hit the floor face down.

Every bad thought I ever had (…_oughta use my pistol and just take the damn money instead…),_

every wrong thing I ever thought about doing and didn't do (_She's alone here in the house. I could fuck her right here) _makes my body shake.

My heart's pounding away in my chest. If I'm lucky I'll have a heart attack.

If I'm lucky…

I'm lying in front of the pool. That boarded-up rec center. I remember when they dragged me into the place. Tagger graffitti on the walls and the ceiling. No one's touching me, no one's inside my head, and the light from the pool floats in the air all around me. It's a peaceful feeling, and for a moment I can fool myself into thinking that it can't get any worse.

Then another head breaks through the water. When they come up out of the pool they're dry, not a drop of water on any of them. They're so ugly it hurts my eyes just to look at them.

Ten of them already standing around me, and here comes five more of them, standing on top of the water, staring at me. Waiting for a chance to eat me away from the inside out.

Tattoo kneels down right beside me.

"It's okay, Dean. It's all right." His fingers skim over the side of my face and I snap at him with my teeth. That makes him laugh. "We're gonna set your mind right. Make a few…changes. Then you can see John again, tell him how you really feel. And if you do really well, then maybe we can all take a little trip. Go see Sam at Stanford. Show little brother he's really not as smart as he thinks he is."

I want to see that.

Dad on his knees in front of me, all bloody and bruised as I kick his ass. I'd do it slow, make the old man suffer for everything he ever put me through.

I'd go slow with Sam too. Use my knife, carve all those fucking names he ever called me right into his Sasquatch hide, and then rub salt into the wounds….

_Stop._

_STOP THIS._

My heart stutters in my chest. It slows, hitches again.

_Have to stop this…don't wanna hurt Sam and Dad…using me…these assholes are using me…_

_I'll fucking die first if I have to... _

In my mind's eye I can see the walls, pretty much blown to hell, and I know they can see them too. Gaping holes in the ones left standing. Bricks pulled out, ground to powder.

If I had my gun with me I'd blow my brains out right now.

Dad and I talked about it a few times. Talked about what we'd do if a fug ever latched onto us. Sammy would always get upset whenever the subject came up, but hey, it's a part of the job. I won't live like the things I hunt.

And if I can stop them, I won't let them use me like that, either. Not against Sam and Dad. Not against anybody.

I can barely keep my eyes open. My heart beats slow in my chest, and I will it to beat slower. I will it to stop. I can do this. They've fucked me up good, but they can't stop me from doing this. I don't know how the hell I know _that_, but I do.

My heart beats even slower.

The leather cord around my wrists loosens. Whoever cut the cord slashes my arms with the blade. I see my blood splatter, but I can't even feel a damned thing. My arms fall to my sides and I can't move them. I've lost circulation and right now that's the least of my worries.

They turn me over on my back and the first thing I see is this old hag. She's staring into my eyes and I can tell the bitch doesn't like what she sees.

_Stop...I have to stop this... _

Tattoo pushes Witch Hazel out of the way. He fingers the pulse in my neck, snaps his head around and screeches at the old hag. His mouth moves as he bitches her out but I can't hear a damned thing.

Everything's too light, too shallow…everything gets slower...

I can't keep my eyes open anymore. I think of Dad, and Sammy, and I take one last deep breath.

_Think you're so damn smart, don't you, boy?_

_Tattoo…inside my head…_…_no…_

_Think you're gonna get off this easy, huh?_

My heart thumps hard in my chest, right up against my ribcage. Rhythm picks up, strong and steady, and I can't stop it.

_You can't leave now. _

_No...can't let them use me like this…_

_You got work to do, kiddo. _

_

* * *

_Next chapter will be posted on Sunday.


	2. one dead girl

_**Chapter 2 – one dead girl**_

_**A/N:**_ It's Sunday. And Phoebe's birthday weirdness continues. And Mish: I haven't forgotten about you, either.

_**POV:**_ Dean Winchester

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, not profit.

* * *

Anne Marie Gates is smiling at me, a big grin full of perfect white teeth. She's a cute kid. Red-headed, freckles. There's a bigger, wider, bloodier grin below her chin.

Her mom cut her throat from ear to ear.

At first I don't get what the hell is going on. We're at eye level. Anne Marie was sixteen when she died, and I was older, taller. Then I look down at myself, and I finally get it.

I'm sitting in the middle of a hallway somewhere. There's a dead girl sitting right in front of me.

_I can't remember how I fucking got here._

The front of her green t-shirt and blue jeans is stiff with dried blood and gore all the way down to her feet. The creases of her white sneakers are stained dark.

"It's not your fault, Dean. None of this is your fault. You tried to stop my parents. I don't blame you for this," she says, smiling. The lips of the wound are bluish pink and move as she talks. "I blame my parents, just like I blame your Dad."

That's not right.

I don't…Dad's not like that…he's not…

Anne Marie frowns and she's not herself anymore. I blink, and instead of red hair, that bloody tee shirt and jeans I see a long black robe, pale skin and tattoos.

"...you're...not... real…" Christ, the top of my head feels like it's about to come off.

She touches the side of my face and her fingers are ice cold and I try to pull away and I can't and there's blood on her fingers and she's smearing it into my skin and this isn't right, none of this is right and I gotta get away, I gotta ----

"Think good thoughts, Dean," Anne Marie whispers. Her voice sounds funny, rough and soft all at the same time. "That's what I want you to do from now on."

Everything goes white for a minute. Can't catch my breath… can't breathe, heart's pounding so hard feels like it's gonna burst…

"Ssssh…calm down, Dean…"

Heart's pounding fit to burst…if I'm lucky, I'll have a heart attack…If I'm lucky…

"Hush now. You don't want to leave just yet, do you?" Her voice softens, and my heart slows up. "Breathe now. Breathe." I take a deep breath that makes me shake all over. Then another one.

Slow. Slower.

"Come on, now. Come back to me, Dean. That's right."

I blink and everything's too bright at first. Another couple blinks and I can see again. I look at her, and I don't see anything else. Just Anne Marie.

Don't know why I was acting so girly a minute ago. I feel okay now.

Anne Marie smiles at me all warm and bright like my Mom used to.

I smell fruit flavored lip gloss and wet blood. Anne Marie leans forward until we're nose to nose. "You remember, don't you? All those fights between your Dad and Sam?"

The right side of my face hurts. I remember. Dad tagged me a good one during one of the last fights, when I stepped between him and Sam. Rocked my head back pretty good; had bruises for a week. Hell, wasn't gonna cry about it. Didn't expect him to say he was sorry and he never did.

"What the hell kind of father does that to his kids?"

That's my voice. Loud and angry.

I must have said that out loud.

"You were caught in the middle, trying to make peace. You've been the good son, the one who stayed and never questioned. You've done everything your Dad ever asked of you, and look where it got you."

Every muscle in my body starts to shake. I'm tired. I'm only twenty three. I shouldn't feel so fucking old and tired.

"Sam." My voice sounds rough. My throat hurts. "Sam left because of Dad. Dad told him if he walked out that door don't bother to come back."

"That's right. Of course you miss your baby brother. Your Dad can't help it, Dean. He's old and tired. Parents get like that sometimes."

Her eyes are shining brightly, like she's discovered something really good and she can't wait to tell it to me. "It's not your fault. You're a good son, the best. You've always known what's best for your family. Your Dad's tired, Dean. He is. This life is too much for him."

"You need to help him, and you're the only one who can." Anne Marie's voice gets rougher, deeper. "Put him out of his misery."

My head rocks back as something spikes me hard right between the eyes, goes deep into my head. I groan as a trickle of blood runs from my right ear down my neck.

"D-Dad's tired…n-not...his...fault..." I whisper hoarsely, and she smiles a little.

"You can do this, Dean. I know you can. Walk up behind your father and shoot him in the back of the head. Twice. Then he can rest and go to heaven and be with your mom. You can do that for him, can't you? Then you can take a little trip, go see Sam at Stanford. He's tired too. You're his big brother. You've taken care of him all your life. I know you'll do right by him."

_Sammy…_

My throat closes up on me, and all I can do is nod.

"All the things your poor family has gone through. It's time to end it all." She gets to her feet all at once; pretty smooth for a dead girl. She leans forward, cups my chin with her hand.

Still cold, too cold, but I don't mind now.

"I know how tired you are, Dean. You deserve a good long rest, right after you take care of your father and your brother. Suicides don't _always_ go to hell," she says brightly. "They'll make an exception in your case. All the people you saved. All that blood on your hands. It wasn't your fault."

"Dad...left me...." Can't keep my eyes open any longer. "…not my fault…"

"That's my good boy." She strokes the back of my head with her hand and presses her lips against my forehead.

* * *

When I open my eyes again I feel better. Headache's gone down to a dull throb, and I can deal with that. I've felt worse.

Huh. Must've grayed out. God must look after children and fools, because what if some demon fucker had come up on me while I was out like that?

I run my hands over my face, and I don't know why I expect to see blood when I pull my hands away. My fingers are sweaty, that's all. I wipe my hands on my jeans. I'm a little shaky getting up, but it passes as I lean against the wall.

My cell phone goes off in my jacket pocket. I don't even need to check the caller ID; I already know who it is.

"Dean? I've been calling you all night. I'm back. Where the hell are you?"

Dad. He sounds pissed.

"I'm at that boarded up city rec center on North 7th street."

"Why?"

"Found a hunt while you were gone. Came over here to check the place out."

I can almost see Dad quirk one eyebrow at the phone. "And you couldn't have left a voice mail, or a note?"

"You called me before I could."

"North 7th street, huh? Stay there," Dad growls. "I'm coming."

"Yes sir."

I close my phone, slip it back into my jacket pocket. I pull my Colt 1911 and my Desert Eagle out of my back waistband, one at a time, pop the clips and check the rounds. They're fully loaded, and I'm good to go.

Got my knife in my left boot. I'd rather make this is quick and painless as I can, but Dad's stubborn, and I gotta be ready for any and everything. I'm pretty sure he didn't believe that lie I told. It's okay.

After everything I've ever done for this family, I know this is the right thing to do.

First Dad, then Sam.

Then we can all rest.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ I'm leaving it at this point because (say it with me, kids): _I'm evil._ Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday.


	3. boys' night out

_**A/N:**_ So I'm EVIL, huh? Mbwahhhh! (Thanks to Phoebe for helping me spell the evil laugh correctly. Never can get that sucker right.) I'm late with this, but here we go! And BTW: this is NOT a deathfic. I don't do those, which is why _The Double Bind_ is in limbo right now. Dean was gonna die in that one, and I chickened out. I call do-over. Seriously. I can change him, but I don't like killing the boy.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 3 – boys' night out**_

I head on out to the parking lot. Won't look right if I don't meet Dad outside.

This place has been deserted for years. Funny thing is, it's clean inside, except for the symbols on the walls and the ceiling, and old stuff like those metal filing cabinets and wooden desks piled up here and there. Kinda doubt the city would care enough to send a crew around to maintain an abandoned building.

The first homeless people who tried to squat here got slaughtered by the things in the pool. Slaughtered and strung up from the ceiling, so the others would go away.

I know that's what happened, because I can see 'em.

I see dead people all around me.

Some of them are people who died on hunts before me and Dad got there. I've seen plenty of crime scene photos in my time. They fade in and out all around me, pale grey smoke, ripped inside out, and I don't play much attention.

Some are hunters who died on hunts. They're all bloody and slashed open. Don't care much for the way they look at me, like they're judging me or something. They're Dad's buddies, not mine.

I see neighbors, kids Sam and I went to school with. Natural causes, accidents, whatever. Hey, death is all around. It's a part of life. Nobody knows that shit better than me.

Old Man Burgess died of a heart attack a few months after me and Dad and Sammy moved in. Columbus, Ohio. He called Family Services on Dad when he saw me with my arm in a cast that time. Think I was gonna tell anybody that a black dog broke my arm when it threw me into that chain link fence? Think again.

I gotta admit, when the paramedics carried him out of his house in that body bag a part of me just didn't give a damn.

Mrs. Esther Holcombe. English teacher. Taos, New Mexico. Ninth grade. I liked her. She saw _me_, you know? I sat in the back of her class and played dumb and she wasn't fooled. Not one damn bit.

Drunk driver plowed into her. I wanted to hunt the bastard down myself but he died in the wreck.

She's pale and grey. The look she gives me is sad, like she hates seeing me like this. That kinda pisses me off. I'm okay. _I'm fine_. Don't expect anyone else to understand, anyway.

I walk right through her and she vanishes in a puff of cold grey smoke.

When I turn the corner I'm twenty feet away from the back exit.

Somebody's standing right in front of the door.

Hallway's dark, full of shadows, but even from where I'm standing I can see right away that whoever this is, it ain't Dad.

I see a brown uniform. Gun belt, holster, and sidearm.

I pull the Colt out as I lean against the wall, then I ease down the hall sideways. I make one lousy target that way, but I've got the advantage. I can't let anyone stop me now.

I draw a little closer and cold chill claws its way up my spine.

The top part of the brown uniform is splattered with gray matter and blood. My eyes adjust to the darkness even more and I know who it is. Sheriff Andrew J. McGlynn, late of the San Mateo County Sheriff's Department.

Except for that pissed off expression on his face, dude looks just like he did the last time I saw him: dead.

The ghoul took the top of his head off like a dog gnawing on a chicken bone. Teethmarks in his skin, bone splinters sticking up past his ears and one long claw mark curving across his cheek that opened his mouth up almost to his ear. He took a shot at the damned thing, so naturally it bit his gun arm off at the elbow.

The blood dripping off his bloody stump onto the floor sounds like rainwater from a drainpipe.

When he was alive it was hate at first sight from the moment we met, and death hasn't changed a friggin' thing. McGlynn glares at me and I glare right back.

"We tried to tell you, asshole," I mutter to myself. I tuck my pistol back into my waistband as I walk by. "You didn't believe us. Why the hell wouldn't you listen?"

I glance down at the wall right beside him, and that's when I remember exactly why I walled this particular number up.

McGlynn's daughter Rebecca was the cheerleader type. Tall, built, flirty as hell. She hung around the living room the first time Dad and I dropped by to talk to her father, and hell yeah, I admit it, if I could've followed her upstairs to her room right then and there, I would've. Of course, her Dad was right there, with his gun on his hip. _Not_ a good idea. I may be a horndog, but I'm not stupid, so I sat there on the couch next to Dad trying not to fidget in that thrift store black suit and tie and pretended to ignore her. That only made her flirt even more, behind her Dad's back.

She doesn't look so flirty now.

The ghoul got to her before her father arrived back home, so it took its time with her, stripped her skin off to her waist, pulled her long brown hair out by the handfuls. She doesn't look up at me, she just sits there, with her knees drawn up to her chest, rocking back and forth, brown eyes all wide and blank.

McGlynn was stubborn and wouldn't listen to me or Dad. Later on his deputies picked me up as I was coming out of the library. Damn fool had me locked up in a cell overnight, and the next morning I was taken out ten miles past the county limits, dumped, and told not to come back. They took my cell phone, and I had to hike eight more miles to a last chance gas station to call Dad. He picked me up as soon as he could, which wasn't easy because McGlynn had put an APB out on the Impala.

McGlynn and his daughter were dead by the time we got back into town. We tracked the ghoul down and scragged its sorry ass, but saving the McGlynns was the whole point.

And we didn't.

On the way out I sat slumped down in the passenger side, staring at my boots. We had the town in our rear view mirror, and nothing but open highway ahead of us. I was damned glad of it. I was sick of the place, sick of the people. I didn't have to say a word.

Dad shrugged. "We can't save everybody, Dean. You know that."

Tired of this life, you know? Tired of trying to save stupid.

I don't even notice as McGlynn and his daughter both vanish into thin air behind me. Night air's cool; feels good after being cooped up inside. It's about eleven thirty by my watch. I walk along the side of the building and pick a good place to hide in the bushes. Wouldn't do to have some real or rent-a-cop come by.

Thirty five minutes later I hear the rumble of the girl's engine off in the distance. Figures. Dad's not gonna drive right up to the building.

_Yahtzee_.

* * *

"Dean."

Dad's dressed in all black, same as he was when I saw him two weeks ago.

_Your Dad can't help it, Dean. He's old and tired. Parents get like that sometimes._

He looks tired. Red eyed. Kinda thin, too, like he hasn't been eating.

I blink again. He looks good. He's moving okay, not limping, or stiff.

I'm not fooled. Not one damn bit.

"Hey, Dad."

He glances at me, gives me the once over, then nods to himself just a little. "So what have you got?"

I nod back towards the rec building. I'm lying like a rug. I don't know where in the hell all this is coming from; I just go with it. "A couple of teenagers disappeared in the area the day after you left. Another two disappeared last week, both cases a couple of blocks from here. Both pairs male and female."

Dad nods to himself again, and we turn and walk towards the building. "I did some checking, and it's not the first time. Happens every two years. This is a poor neighborhood, so the cops just chalk the disappearances up as runaways. This place was boarded up ten years ago. Found some weird looking symbols on the walls inside, near the pool."

…_shoot him…_

"Tagger graffiti?" Dad rumbles, and I shake my head. "Doesn't look like any I've ever seen."

…_in the back of the head. Twice. _

I reach the door first, grab that big brass handle and pull it open so Dad can step through first.

_Then he can rest and go to heaven and be with your mom._

I reach back underneath my jacket and put my hand on my Desert Eagle.

_You can do that for him, can't you, Dean ? _

I pull my gun out all the way, smooth and easy, and I should have known better than to think this was gonna go smooth. My family doesn't do easy. Never have. So why the fuck would this be any different?

Dad turns, grabs me by the wrist, fists my jacket with his other hand, and smashes me backwards into the wall. I see fucking stars, all right, big, bright and white when Dad head butts me twice while he lets go of my jacket and blocks my left hand.

My knees buckle and he follows up with a few more punches all over. Sharp pain in my right side; hard to breathe all of a sudden.

Broken rib, but I'm not gonna let that stop me. The old man is no pushover. Come on, he's my _Dad_, remember?

He slams my gun hand hard against the brick wall twice. Never give up your weapon. That's one of the first things Dad ever taught me. He's focused on my gun hand, so I open up and let the gun drop to the ground.

Doesn't seem to startle him. That glint in his eyes gets even harder then, and I know what he's thinking.

"Christo."

I don't even blink. I'm too busy moving, blocking his punches, kicking out with my legs, pushing him back. Can't let him hem me up.

He's close enough. And I still have my knife in my boot. And my Colt.

I don't back down, and neither does Dad. We're toe to toe, and I could almost fool myself into thinking we're just sparring. I kick him hard in his left leg. When Dad's leg buckles I step in close and trip him. Damn, I'm paying for getting in this close. Dad nails me again in the ribs several more times, like he knows I'm weak there.

Soon as his back hits the ground I'm right on top of him.

I don't even remember drawing my knife.

Dad blocks, and I slash him across his left palm. Meant to slash his throat this time. Gotta stop him somehow, slow him down.

I stab him in the left shoulder, sink the hilt of the knife all the way in.

"Son of a bitch!" Dad clocks me a good one right in the face.

_Dean?_

It's Anne Marie, inside my head.

I favor my right side as I back up. Dad glares at me like I'm a stranger or something. He breathes in and out and my knife moves up and down in him.

"So what's your name, princess?"

"It's me, Dad. Dean."

"No. You're good, I'll give you that. But you're not my son."

"Suit yourself." I'm not about to turn my back on Dad. I grope for the door handle with my left hand. I can see how tired he really is. "Don't expect you to believe me."

"Enjoy the ride while you can. I'm sending your sorry ass back to hell first chance I get."

Dude thinks I'm _possessed_? I can't help but laugh. "Is _that_ what you think this is?"

Dad's tired. He's confused, but I know he's not gonna stay down for long. I pull the door open and shag ass inside, fast as I can. Well, as fast as I can beat halfway to hell, broken rib and all.

I don't need to look back. Dad's gonna follow me in. I know he is.

Have to get him inside, to the pool.

So Anne Marie and the others can see when I put him to rest.

* * *

TBC next Tuesday


	4. in the funhouse

_**Chapter 4 – in the funhouse**_

_**A/N:**_ It's Tuesday. Let the madness continue!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't down Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, for Phoebe, and not for profit.

* * *

Inside looks different. Bigger. Furniture and desks piled up all over the damn place, more than I remember from before. The doors are smaller, crooked, and the walls look…funny. Slick, like human skin, not plaster and paint.

I see holes in the floor, big ones, big enough for me to fall in.

Me or Dad.

I can't see what's down there, can't stop long enough to get a good look.

This is pissing me off a little. Don't need any fucking help. Don't know why all this has changed. I can do this by myself. I can. I can help Dad rest.

Couple minutes later I've got my Colt out. I'm easing around this big pile of office furniture stacked in what used to be the basketball court. I think the pool's straight through the rear wall, right behind me, but I'm not sure.

Right side hurts like a bitch. Gotta keep quiet, control my breathing. Dad's on the other side of the pile.

I know he is.

"So how long has it been?" Dad calls out. He doesn't sound mad.

"What?"

"How long have you been inside my son?" He's trying to trick me, trying to get me talking, so he can track me. Or he's staying put. He's trying to get _me_ to come to_ him_. "Must have been after I left. Dean was fine, before."

Like this is all _my_ fault, huh? Like I got careless with the salt lines, or sloppy. Bastard. "No, I wasn't."

"What?"

"I wasn't fine. Didn't want you to leave. Sam ditched us. And then you up and leave me. No word, no warning. How the hell else do you think I'm supposed to feel about that, Dad?"

Dad laughs, and I don't like the sound.

"Damn, you _are_ good. I'll give you that. Got it all wrong though."

God, my head hurts. It's like I can hear my heart pounding in my head and my ribs. I close my eyes and lean up against the side of this metal filing cabinet. Wanna rest. Just…just for a moment, then I'll be okay.

"I'm not your father, you bastard." Dad sounds pissed now.

_Shit. He's right behind me._

I jerk upright as I turn around. I raise the Colt and pull the trigger. I was going for a head shot, and I miss that one by a mile. Dad goes left, and then we're nose to nose again. He's whaling on my sorry ass just like he did before.

I reach out with my left and my fingers brush against the hilt of my knife in Dad's shoulder. I twist it, push it into him, and Dad growls, he fucking roars at me.

Something hard slams into the right side of my face, and my right side, over and over again, and I nearly lose it then. Never mind seeing stars, everything gets nearly black as I stumble backwards. I got a death grip on my Colt and nothing else as Dad twists my arm down.

My fingers close around this metal handle, and I yank on whatever the hell this is, pull on it as I fall backwards. Turns out it's a small desk drawer. It slides free and I got just enough in me to swing it up. I smack Dad right upside the head with it as he leans over me.

He lets go of my arm and falls back, and I start backpedaling. Can't see, really having a hard time breathing now, but I've still got my gun, so I raise it. My finger tightens on the trigger. I can hear Dad, track him by the sound.

Not gonna be able to do this by the pool after all.

_No, Dean,_ Anne Marie says inside my head, and I feel a jolt as the floor drops out from under me. I'm twisting, falling, and everything goes pitch black.

* * *

Cold.

_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio _

I know I'm screwed even before I open my eyes.

_infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. _

Can't use my arms, for one thing. They're behind me. Colt's gone.

_Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. _

Metal around my wrists, so I know Dad's got me handcuffed. Got my back to the wall, and my ass on the floor.

_Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, _

No sense in me playing possum. Dad's not gonna fall for that.

_eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. _

When I open my eyes he's kneeling right there beside me. It's dark where ever this is, but not dark enough where I can't see. The right side of Dad's face is all bruised and bloody where I nailed him with that desk drawer, from the top of his head down to the side of his chin. I can see his breath in the air, all white and thick. I can see mine too.

I jerk back when he hits me full in the face with water. Makes my skin get even colder, and my teeth chatter.

Holy water.

My eyes don't turn black. My skin doesn't steam up. Nothing.

Dad's shoulders sag a little. We stare at each other for a long moment. Dad slips his flask back into his pocket.

I don't like the way he's looking at me. It's like he pities me or something. That's not right. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine. He's the one who got us into this whole fucking mess, not me. He's the reason Sam left.

"Dean," Dad whispers. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He reaches out, puts one hand on my left shoulder, and I don't want that. Don't want him touching me. Don't want him looking at me like that. He looks soft and worried and tired and weak and that's not the way Dad should look. I don't wanna see this. Feel this. I don't.

"Get your damn hands off me." I snap at his hand with my teeth. Not even close, but he gets the idea.

Dad's eyes narrow and he pulls his hand away slowly. He's looking at me different now, like I'm a problem he has to solve.

"We can fix this, Dean."

I smirk at him then. "I don't need fixing, Dad."

"Gotta get you outta here, to someplace safe." He opens his jacket, and I see my Colt snugged into his front waistband. Dad pulls a flashlight out of his left jacket pocket. "Call Jim Murphy, or Bobby Singer. I have to know what I'm dealing with, first. They messed with your mind, son. This isn't you."

"It isn't? How the fuck would _you_ know, Dad?"

"What?"

"How the hell would you know this isn't me? I'm just an extra pair of hands, right? Go here, do this, kill that."

This isn't the way I want this to go. I don't want to say this stuff, but I'm aching all over and Dad is pissing me off. He stares at me for a moment, a really hard moment, like he's looking deep below my skin, trying to see who's really in there.

"Let's go." He takes me by the arm and pulls me up onto my feet. I look up and see the hole in the floor above my head.

"You'll be fine, Dean," Dad mutters, but it's like he's talking to himself. "It'll be okay."

Dad lies just as good as he ever did. Only difference now is I don't believe a word he says.

* * *

We're lost.

I can't even tell where the damn pool is, much less where the hell we are. Must have passed underneath that same damn hole I fell through twice now. At least I think it's the same damn hole. There's frost everywhere. There's no way to climb up, and the walls are slick.

I limp along, right next to Dad. Ribs feel like a friggin' elephant has been tap-dancing on my side, and my head doesn't feel much better.

Dad did _that_.

Dad _hit_ me.

I was only trying to help him, and he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't listen. I groan a little as my ribs shift inside. It hurts. I get pissed off all over again.

_What kind of father does that to his own kids?_

_Your Dad can't help it, Dean. He's old and tired. Parents get like that sometimes._

It's Anne Marie. I'm so glad to hear her voice inside my head. My knees buckle, and Dad doesn't get it, he can't hear her. He stops and steadies me, lifts me up by my left shoulder.

"You okay, Dean?"

"Y-yeah…" I can't stay mad at him. I can't. He's tired. We both are.

_You need to help him, Dean. You're the only one who can._

"Do you remember anything?" Dad rumbles as he shines the flashlight all around. "Anything at all?"

_Won't be long, Dean,_ Anne Marie whispers. _Not long at all…_

Faces push in through the walls. They're covered with a thin glaze of ice. They're the faces of the people who were here before. The ones who died. The ones who came up from the water in the pool.

…_boy…_

They're all around watching us, and I can tell Dad can't see a damned thing.

…_you can do this for us, boy…_

"No." I shake my head as I lean against him.

I don't feel so good.

I see myself slashing at Dad with my knife.

_...do this for us…_

I tried to shoot Dad. I didn't…I didn't mean that.

I look at him and the side of his face is all busted up. Because of me. I did that.

I wouldn't…I couldn't...

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Ace?"

" 'm sorry for the things I said. This is all my fault."

Dad smiles a little then. "No, it's not. Shit happens, kiddo."

I see the way Dad's looking all around. I can practically hear him think. He wants to uncuff me, wants to put me up on his shoulders so that I can reach up, climb through one of those holes, and then pull him up. But he's not sure about me, doesn't know if I'm going to go off on him or not.

I know what I'd do if he uncuffed me.

I couldn't stop myself. I don't want to.

"Dad, please…"

I wanna tell him to get the hell away from me, but my throat closes up.

_Have you forgotten our little talk so soon, Dean?_ Anne Marie hisses inside my head.

My knees buckle. Dad lifts me up again, and it's too late.

I smell water in the air all around us.

I take a deep breath, and the floor underneath our feet begins to crack. Pieces of ice and grey tile float upward, slow and lazy. The air around Dad and me gets thick, dark.

The air turns to water, and it's so damn cold it shocks me, chills me right down to my bones. Dad's feet leave the floor, and so do mine.

_Be a good boy, Dean. You can do this,_ Anne Marie whispers. The cuffs around my wrists break apart.

I can help him now. I can do this.

Dad's eyes narrow when he sees my hands are free. He tries to grab me, but he's numb already. I hit him in the belly hard enough to drive the air out of him, and I hit him again until his head rocks back and his eyes close.

Dad goes limp. I put my arms around him and kick for the lights above, for the surface. My lungs are burning, and I'm cold, wet and shivering when we break the surface. We're in the pool now. It's filled with broken pieces of ice and dark green water.

I can barely feel the weight of Dad's body in my arms. It takes a while for me to haul him up out of the water once we make it over to the edge. I turn him over on his back, check his vitals.

He's pale and cold. He's still breathing. Still breathing, but not for long.

Anne Marie fades into view right beside me, and at first I see black robes, pale skin, and black tattoos, but I know that's not right.

I'm shaking and shivering. I'm so damn cold.

Dad needs me. Dad needs me to do this for him.

I blink again, and Annie Marie's there.

She has this sad look on her face as she hands me the knife.

* * *

Two more chapters to go after this, folks. Next one posted Sunday, sooner if Real Life permits.

* * *


	5. twisted for a loop

_**A/N:**_ According to canon (namely "No Exit," 3rd season) Dean told Jo he was "6 or 7" when John first took him out shooting. Now, would _you _give six year old Dean a gun? John Winchester would. And so would I.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 5 – twisted for a loop**_

It's a big knife. Heavy. Blade's longer than my hand, and about as wide. Looking at the symbols engraved in the steel makes my head hurt. The handle's dark yellow, maybe bone. I'm so damn cold that my fingers are numb. I can barely feel the knife handle. I can't let Dad down, but this is wrong. It's not what Anne Marie said before.

It's Dad. She told me to shoot him. Put him to rest. Not like this. I don't know where she got this pigsticker from.

Dad looks like he's asleep. I'm glad about that, but he's already covered in a thin layer of white ice. Looks like somebody dusted him with powdered sugar. Even asleep he still looks tired, with all those bruises on the side of his face.

I've seen Dad look like that before, when he came back home after hunts, and he'd come in late at night or the next day, stagger in, collapse on the sofa of whatever rat-hole we were living in, salt and blood and fugly guts on his skin and clothes. I'd clean and patch him up, do what I could for him, help him to bed.

Help him rest. Like I want to now.

"Dean?" Anne Marie says slowly. "I really need you to focus right now."

I stare down at the knife in my hand. It's so big and heavy I don't think I can lift it. When I look up Anne Marie doesn't look right. "Y-you s-said…" 'm so cold I'm stuttering. Not a good sign.

"I said_ what_, Dean?"

"Y-you s-said I sh-should u-use muh…my g-gun on h-him." My teeth are chattering. She's looking at me funny, and I have to slow down. Maybe she doesn't understand me. "S-said I shou-should s-shoot him in the ba-back of his he-head." My mouth feels all thick and funny. I have to slow myself down. "So he can r-rest. S-so I cuh..could. So. I. Could. Help. Him."

I can't help staring at the deep cut across her throat. Her own mother did that to her. Just like…just like Dad caught me a good one in my ribs. It hurts. Every damn time I breathe, it hurts.

Dad made Sam leave. Sam hurt me when he left, and so did Dad.

"Sweetie," Anne Marie says, and she puts one hand on the side of my face. I don't even blink. I can't feel her fingers. "I know I said that before, but you don't have your gun with you now, do you?"

"I…I l-lost it…" I take another deep breath. I hiss through my teeth when my ribs start throbbing again. "I don't…dun't…"

"See?" Next thing I know she's got her hand on my chin, and when I look down for the Colt, her fingers tighten, and she yanks my head up so I have to look at her. "That's why I brought you the knife." She smiles at me, and I start shaking all over. "You can do this." She's talking to me like I'm some dumb ass kid. I'm not. I didn't mean to fuck this up. I didn't. "You need to bleed him into the pool. And then you need to take his heart."

I sit there blinking at her, all slow and stupid. My head hurts. Her voice sounds funny, like it's buzzing in my ears. "I'll f-find my guh..gun…"

"There's no time for that." She gives me this look, and I get it. It's the same kind of look Dad gave me back in Fort Douglas. I fucked up again. Big time. I lost my knife. Lost my guns, both of them…I don't… I don't know how to fix this. Don't know how to give Dad the help he needs.

"If you do this, you and your father can make it up to the people you both couldn't save. You can help them rest, the same way you can help your Dad rest. Your father's flesh and blood will help them live again. You save people, don't you Dean? It's what your family does. What you can do now."

My head hurts so bad everything goes double, Dad, Anne Marie, the faces.

I just sit there staring at her, and I guess that pisses them all off. They hiss at me and it hurts so bad, feels like an icepick through both ears. My eyes start to water and my grip on the knife loosens.

"Dean?" Anne Marie whispers.

"I can't." I make the mistake of shaking my head no, and my head feels like it's gonna fall off. "I can't do it like that." I keep thinking that maybe she doesn't understand me, so I talk real slow. "I have to use my gun. Dad needs to rest…"

"Sssshh now." She grabs me by my jacket front, pulls me to her. We're nose to nose, and she sticks her tongue in my mouth.

Not my first time swapping spit with a chick but she smells like blood and her tongue tastes like burnt sulfur, like I'm sucking on a burnt match somebody shoved into my mouth. I stare at her face, and it gets broader, pale, with all these tats all over her skin.

…_don't want this. I don't..._

That buzzing in my head gets louder, and I can't pull away from her.

This isn't right. She's larger closer up. Her fingers are large, rougher.

I don't want her touching me.

Anne Marie pushes up against me, grinds her mouth and body against me. I feel her teeth in my skin, down my neck. Next thing I know I'm on my hands and knees and she's standing right over me.

Got my forehead against the floor, eyes squeezed shut. My head hurts. I'm shivering and shaking all over, and I can't stop myself. I'm tired but that's no damn excuse. I'm so fucking worthless.

I screw up everything I touch. I didn't help Dad enough. Sam wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for me. If I could have found a way to keep Dad and Sam from fighting all the time, if I could have helped Mom that night….

Can't take care of my family, and this time is no different.

"…sorry…'m sorry…please…"

"All right, Dean. It's all right." Anne Marie pats me on my back. "I understand. It's hard, I know. You want to help your father. I know you do. You have to get up now."

I open my eyes and lift my head. First thing I see are all those faces in the walls. They're all around, and they're watching me, all wide-eyed, mouths hanging wide open. They look like they're mad or scared or something. I don't know why. My legs are wobbly. I hear something metal scrape across the floor beside me as I stand up. When I look down I see my Colt on the floor.

I bend down to pick it up, and everything goes grey on me. I nearly face-plant into the floor.

When I stand up my head's throbbing, and at first I can't see anything but black spots all over the damn place, but the weight of the Colt in my hand is solid. It feels _right_. I want to help Dad, but not with that damn knife. Anne Marie's talking about gutting him like some damn fish. I can't do that.

I turn around, take one look, and that's when I step back, raise the Colt up in a two handed grip.

Dad's awake. He's using Anne Marie as a shield, holding the knife to her throat.

The first thing Dad ever taught me about guns goes through my head.

I was wired that day. Hell, why wouldn't I be? First time my Dad's gonna show me how to shoot, with one of his own guns. It was heavier than I thought it would be, but I wasn't about to screw this up.

I was six and he set five beer bottles on that wooden fence out back of Pastor Jim's house. "Never point a gun unless you intend to pull the trigger, Dean," Dad told me. "You point, you pull the trigger, and you kill whatever you're aiming at."

I bulls-eyed all five bottles. Killed 'em dead.

That's not…that's not what this is. I look at the gun in my hands and my fingers shake. I'm helping Dad, right? I wouldn't…

God, I just wish my friggin' head would stop hurting…

Anne Marie looks scared. She's wide eyed, scared, just like the faces in the walls. Dad's got the point of the knife right next to her throat. She's been cut once. Her mom did that to her.

And I couldn't save her that time, either.

Head shot. Dad's taller than Annie Marie, at least I think he is. I keep blinking and things keep changing on me. 'm seeing stuff that isn't there. Black robes, tattoos…

I think I'm losing my freaking mind.

"I just…I just wanna help you, Dad." I can't talk any louder than a whisper.

"Is that what they told you, Dean?" Dad says quietly.

"You…you made Sam leave. I couldn't get the two of you to stop fighting..." I tighten my grip on the gun and Dad doesn't even blink. "I get it. I do. All of this. It's my fault." My voice cracks and my face gets wet. I sound like a damn girl. I swallow hard. Can't get past that lump in my throat. This isn't the way I wanted this to go at all.

The inside of my nose is prickling, like I'm gonna start bawling like a little bitch any minute. I take a deep breath, and my ribs twinge on me, but when I open my mouth again I'm steady. Calmer. "All my life I tried to take care of you and Sam. I tried. And this is the last thing I can do for you."

Dad nods. Like he understands now.

Like he gets it now.

I steady my hands and pull the trigger.

The gun clicks. There's no recoil.

All I hear is hissing and wailing all around me, from the faces, from Anne Marie. Her back is arched, her mouth's stretched wide open.

I keep pulling the trigger, even as Dad lets go and Ann Marie stumbles forward. I blink and it's not her anymore, just some tall bastard in a long black robe, pale skin. He's bald-headed, covered in tats all over. I think I've seen him before, but I'm not sure where.

_You're not going anywhere yet, Deano. You got work to do, remember?_

_Walk up behind your Dad, shoot him twice in the head. Then he can rest. _

My stomach starts cramping, hard and tight. I wanna hurl, but nothing comes up. My fingers jerk open and I drop the Colt. I hit the floor on my knees seconds later.

Dad…I nearly killed Dad…I've been beating on him all night long.

The things I said to him…

"_I wasn't fine. Didn't want you to leave. Sam ditched us. And then you up and leave me. No word, no warning. How the hell else do you think I'm supposed to feel about that, Dad?"_

"_How the hell would you know this isn't me? I'm just an extra pair of hands, right? Go here, do this, kill that."_

…the things I did….letting that thing with the tats touch me like that…

I smell blood, but it's not Dad. Dude with the tats is bleeding like a stuck pig. His blood splashes onto the floor and where ever it hits sizzles like acid, smoke that smells like rotten meat and shit.

Dad grabs Tattoo by the shoulder, spins him around, and slashes him again, from his belly to his throat.

Tattoo screams out, loud enough to shatter the windows set up high in the walls. Dad leaves the knife in him, raises his foot and punts him backwards into the pool.

The faces scream out then, and I'm digging my hands into my ears, anything to stop that fucking sound from eating my brain out. Everything around me goes white.

Dad's right next to me, right over me, and I draw back from him. "Dean? Dean! We gotta go, bud. Come on."

I let him put one arm around his waist, the other arm over his shoulders. He turns me towards the door and we haven't even taken a step when I hear splashing behind us and white hot pain makes my left leg buckle.

I know what I'm gonna see even before I turn around. Tattoo's half out of the pool, drenched in blood and water, and he's got me by the leg. His fingernails dig into my skin as he jerks me backwards, and Dad nearly face plants. He won't let go.

Bastard yanks me backward again, and he's too damn strong. Even with Dad holding on to me, I won't be able to make it.

My ribs are screaming now. Getting pulled in opposite directions. I don't have the breath for this, but I gotta try. "Dad, let go. Let go of me ---"

I'm not surprised when he does. Everybody leaves me, right? Everyone does. I can't read the look on Dad's face.

I'm jerked backward and the pain in my left leg burns all the way up my spine.

Tattoo's grinning as he pulls me back. "He's _ours_, hunter. We claimed him this night. Your eldest is ours now ---"

Dad pulls my Colt out of his jacket. He pops the clip back in and raises the gun. "The hell he is."

I can't hear the gunshot over all the screeching and hissing, but I feel it when Tattoo lets go of me. I glance back, see this large hole right between his eyes. Bastard looks surprised. Dead and surprised. He slides back into the pool and the water covers him up.

Then Dad's got one arm around my waist, and I stumble forward with him holding me up. We both nearly fall flat on our faces more times than I can count. I can't get my legs to work right, especially my left one.

The floor is moving and rolling underneath our feet, and just as we hit the door I turn around just enough to see the water in the pool turn blackish red. It's boiling. The water floods over the tiles and then I hear this godawful gurgling sound. The same sound that water makes going down a drain.

I try to move faster, but I can't get my damn legs to work. Dad holds me even tighter, and we're scrambling down the hall, as the hissing and screaming gets louder all around us. Smells like shit and sulfur and wet blood and the walls are screaming, crying.

We hit the doorway, turn into the hall leading to the exit door and it's miles away. I can barely keep my eyes open, and my body's too heavy. Dad pulls me along, and I wanna tell him to let go of me. He should. This is all because of me. He's gonna die because of me.

Because I was weak. Because I was stupid, but I can tell he's not gonna let go or listen to me.

Probably chew my ass out for being sloppy once we get outside.

If we make it outside.

The floor turns to mud the last few feet. Thick, slimy mud that weighs us both down. I can't help but think that I managed to get both of us killed, and odds are Sam will never find out what happened to Dad or me.

That gurgling sound behind us gets even louder, makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up. I glance back and the walls and the floors are folding into themselves, and now the floor is on a slant.

Dad grunts as he pulls me forward, and the last thing I remember is seeing his hand on that big brass door pull. Something deep inside my head breaks open, and I fall into the darkness that spills out.

* * *

"_Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Dean, go!" _

_I run and I run but my legs are too short and Sammy's so heavy but I'm not gonna drop him, not gonna drop him but I'm so scared and I can't breathe and Daddy told me to run, so I run until I get outside, I run and turn around and there's smoke and fire and I don't see Daddy and I don't see Mommy but I tell Sammy it's okay, Sammy, it's okay, it's gotta be okay, and I'm scared I'm so scared---_

"Dean?"

Something's shaking me. Something's shaking my shoulder and I don't wanna open my eyes, don't wanna see what it is ---

"Hey! Dean!"

I jerk forward and I open my eyes when I feel this large hand on my chest.

Dad smirks at me. "Bout time you woke up, princess."

We're out. I'm sitting in the front passenger side of the Impala. Dad's got the door open, and he's kneeling beside me.

"You okay?"

I just stare at him. He doesn't look sick or old. Or tired. Just bruised and beat half to hell.

_I did that. Me. _

I stare at him long enough where it gets weird and awkward. I don't care.

Dad pulls out my Colt and for a moment I think he's either gonna pistol whip me or shoot me. I deserve either one. He pops the clip, looks at it, and then pops it back in. He doesn't give it back to me, puts it in his back waistband.

Don't blame him. I don't want it back.

Dad grins a little, jerks his head back towards the park. "Place collapsed in on itself. There's nothing but a sinkhole back there. I had to drag you back here to the car. You were pretty much out of it, Ace."

I huff when I hear that nickname. _Ace._ Hell, I don't deserve that anymore.

_You need to help him, Dean. You're the only one who can._

Dad looks at me funny. "You sure you're okay?"

"Y-yeah. I'm fine." _Oh yeah, I'm golden. Got a couple of busted ribs, played tongue hockey with some demonic bastard from hell while he and the gang were mind fucking me. Right now I feel like eating the barrel of my gun, Dad, so it's a damn good thing you didn't give it back to me. Oh yeah, I'm super. No doubt about it._ I lean back against the bench seat. "What was all that?"

Dad shrugs. "Hellmouth, I think. Water can be used as a conduit to Hell. It's as good as anything else they could use. My guess is, they needed human blood to open it up all the way. That bastard with the tats was tainted. That's why he tried to drag you in. If they could get you to kill me, that would have opened it up all the way."

_And after you take care of your father, we'll go visit Sam at Stanford. Teach him that he never should have left. _

And I wanted to do what they said. God help me, a part of me wanted to.

I feel sick again, but I jump when Dad puts his hand on my arm.

"Dean? You still with me, bud?"

I nod. "Yeah."

Dad stares at me hard like he doesn't believe a freaking word I'm saying. "Okay. Now look, they got inside your head and twisted it all around. You got mindfucked. It happens, Dean. It does. There's no shame in it. Doesn't mean you're weak, or damaged."

"Has it…ever happened to you?"

Dad stands up. "Twice."

"Why didn't you ever mention it?"

"Didn't want to worry you. I came out okay. You will too." He closes the door and goes back to the trunk for something. I sit there and all I can hear is this voice inside my head.

_I do everything I can for this fucking family, and they don't appreciate it. They never do…_

I can't pretend I don't know who it is.

_Dad couldn't keep Mom safe. Can't keep me and Sam safe. I got his back, but he never has mine…_

It's _me. _It's _my _voice.

_I see the way Sam looks at me sometimes, like he's so fucking smart, better than me, taller than me…_

Seems to take forever for me to turn my body so that I put my feet on the ground. My head starts swimming when I lean forward and stand up. Dad's still back there with the trunk open. He can't see me, and I don't close the door.

I walk away from the car.

After what I did. The things I said…how the hell can he even stand to be around me? All the voices inside my head, the screaming….

I don't know where I'm going now. I just know I have to get away. Maybe I'll walk out in front of a bus or a truck. Find a highway overpass and jump into traffic.

Sam left. Dad always leaves me.

Only this time I think it's better that I leave first.

* * *

One more chapter than then we are finished, folks. Still more Dean angst and hurt. Comfort provided by none other than John Winchester himself. Will be posted on next Tuesday.


	6. horsehoes and hand grenades

_**A/N the 1st:**_ I hate my internet provider. With a passion. I could pretend that the North Koreans targeted these bozos, but hell, who am I kidding. This is the way they conduct business normally!

_**A/N the 2nd:**_ Well guys, I know I said this is the last chapter of Patricide. It isn't. There will be at least two more and an epilogue.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 6 – horseshoes and hand grenades**_

_Now, where d'ya think you're goin', kiddo?_

_Not Dad. Not…_I 'm staggering like I'm drunk. Crappy motor skills with none of the friggin' fun, but at least I'm moving. Away from Dad.

_We're messed up like this 'cause of him, and you're gonna walk away without ganking his sorry ass?_

"You're not me. You're not…" I'm whispering like some damn crazy bag lady. I turn around and look behind me and nearly lose my balance. Trunk's still up. Dad hasn't noticed anything. Not yet, anyway.

_Dude, you just hurt my feelings. Real bad. I think I'm gonna cry._

Can't listen. Won't listen.

That voice inside my head laughs. _Ah, just kidding, dumb ass. You're going in the wrong direction, aren't ya? Thinking about ending it all, huh? Stupid._

_Shut up. Get the fuck outta my head…_

_No can do, wavy gravy. Come on, you're driving. You can do it. You walk right up to Dad, and he won't suspect a thing. Gun's in his back waistband. You pull it. You use it. That'll be one less pompous prick in the world._

"…I can't do that…I won't…" I'm cold all of a sudden. My teeth chatter and my ribs hurt. I hug myself as I stumble forward.

_Can't? Why not? He's gonna blame us for what happened tonight anyway. You know that, don't' ya? Dad's not gonna cut us a break. We're never good enough. Sammy might be gone, but he's still Dad's favorite, remember?"_

My head feels funny and I can't pick my feet up high enough. Dad slams the Impala's trunk shut behind me, and the noise makes me jump like a damn girl.

"Dean?"

I shake my head. "Don't call me that." Fuck. I sound like I'm crying. I can hear Dad's footsteps behind me.

"Son?"

"G- get…get the fuck away from me…'m not safe to be around…."

Dad's fingers grip my right arm, and that's it, busted ribs or no, I wanna hurt him. I turn on him like I'm gonna kick his ass. Fat chance of that; halfway through the move I know it's too much for me. My head feels light all of a sudden. The world turns around me like a tilt-a-whirl ride, and all the colors around me smear into grey, then black.

* * *

When I wake up I'm sitting on the ground, and Dad's kneeling right next to me. His hand is on my back, and he's got something in his hand, pointed at my face. All I see is something small and round.

I sit there blinking like a dummy, and I finally get it. It's a fucking plastic bottle filled with water.

Too bad it's not my gun.

I don't have my knife on me. I want to put my hands around his throat and squeeze the fucking life out of him, but I think about my gun. I could shoot him in the legs first, drop him to the ground, and then take my time with him. Got enough bullets in the clip…

"Water. You're dehydrated," Dad rumbles. "Just take a little, kiddo."

Water? My clothes and hair are still wet from that pool in the rec center. Haven't I had enough fucking water tonight?

I open my mouth a little, and Dad tilts the bottle just enough so that I get a few drops on my tongue. It's lukewarm, tastes like shit going down. My throat feels like it's closing up. I'm pissed off and sad all the same time. Dad pulls the bottle back when I start coughing.

He's playing Daddy now. Concerned fucking father, something I needed all along and never have gotten like I deserved.

That look in his eyes is all soft and warm and concerned for me and it's so wrong---

_so fucking fake, he doesn't care about me ---_

I feel like yelling. He needs to get away from me.

It's not safe…I'm not safe…

"You don't…have to pretend." My throat's raw, sore. Even the air feels heavy going down when I take a deep breath..

"Pretend what, Dean?"

"That…that you give a shit about me. That the stuff I said…the stuff I did doesn't matter."

I see that bloody hole in his shoulder, the bruises on his face and neck.

I fucking did that. Me.

My muscles feel like Jello all over, but I can move my arms now. Getting the gun'll be so easy…

"The only reason you want me around --"

_Shut up..._

"…is 'cause I'm an extra set of hands."

_…shut up….shut the fuck up, you hear me?_

"Dean, it's okay. It's all right now." And that's when I realize that I must've said something out loud.

Dad shakes his head. His face changes, just a little, and I can see it in his eyes. That's when it hits me. Dad's not gonna leave me.

He's not gonna leave me. Unless I make him leave.

He looks larger than life. Nothing can take him down. That's the way I feel about him, the way I always see him. I tried to be like him. I did. My Dad's a hero.

I'm not. I'm shabby and broken and worthless.

Dad didn't need any help when they fucked over him. Doesn't matter anymore what those bastards in the rec center did to me. I can't hurt my family. I can't.

I want to hurt them. Why not? What the hell have they ever done for me?

I stare at the blood and bruises on Dad's face and I wish I'd bashed his fucking head in.

_I gotta…_

'm gonna use my knife on Sam, real slow and easy, make him whimper and bawl like a bitch for every time he thought he was better than me.

_… stop this…_

I could hide stuff before. Bury it deep inside, pretend none of this mattered, and that I didn't give a shit. Not anymore. Don't wanna hide. Maybe if I show Dad what's inside me, he'll pull my Colt out of his waistband and do me a favor.

I start laughing, and I know I sound like fucking looney toons.

"Dean?"

I'm smiling when I say it. "I'm gonna kill you."

"What?"

"You deaf_ and_ stupid now, is that it? I'm gonna kill you."

Feeling's coming back in my arms and legs. Won't be long now.

Dad and Sam can make it without me. They're stronger than I am. They're better off without me.

I keep my arms limp, my hands down on the ground.

_This is our chance. We're close enough._ That voice inside my head sounds pissed_. What the hell are you waiting for?_

_Close counts only in horseshoes and hand grenades, you sonofabitch._

_Dad, please, please ---_

"Kill me."

The voices in my head start screaming.

"What?"

"Kill me. Kill me ---"

"Dean, look at me—"

"…no…"

"Stay with me, Dean. Look at me---"

"You gotta kill me. If you don't…I'll kill you. And then I'll go after Sam."

"Dean, I want you to focus on me, you hear me?" It's Dad's command voice, and it pisses me off even more.

"Haven't you even listened to a fucking word I've said? Are you that damn stupid?"

He's not leaving me, he's not…

"Tried…tried to get away…and I can't even do that right…" It's so fucking funny, and I can't move, I won't, I don't know what else to do. He never listens to me. Sam doesn't even. What the hell do I have to do to get some damn body to listen to what I'm saying?

"I want you to keep looking at me, Dean. Focus on me, and nothing else.…"

I can't. I'm not strong enough.

The voices inside my head stop.

_So this is the way you wanna play this, huh? Okay. Fine. We'll play._

None of this is right, can't be, but I feel hands all over my body, yanking me down underneath my skin. Everything pulls away from me, Dad, the night sky all around me, everything.

* * *

It's light where I am now.

Son of a bitch. This isn't what I expected at all.

Sun overhead gets blotted out as they lean over me, and I can see their faces.

My face. Over and over again.

I've seen crazy before. Hell, I _know _crazy, and I'm looking right at it. _My_ kind of crazy, over and over again. Eyes too bright, too cheerful. I walled 'em up, all of 'em up. Been too long in the dark.

I'm kicking and hitting and punching with everything I got, and it's not enough. One giggles as he punches me in the face. I see every fucking constellation there is, all white and exploding behind my eyes, but I'm not going down easy.

"Get off me, you lousy sonsofbitches, get the hell off me ---"

They jam their fingers into my ears, nose and mouth. I'm snapping an snarling like a friggin' rabid dog, and all they do is laugh. My voice, my voice.

They've been waiting for this all my life, and now it's their turn.

Another me clamps his hands down over my mouth, pinches my nose shut as the others swarm over me, push me down on the ground, and my lungs start burning from lack of air. I nail the one holding onto my left leg three times in the face with my boot. He doesn't let go, just gives me this bloody grin and digs his fingernails into my thigh. More of them pile on top of me, and I'm not surprised that there are so many of the bastards. I built a lot of walls over the years.

I get slammed down into the ground hard again, in the middle of a thick cloud of dust.

I can't move. They're piled on top of me, and it's getting hard to breathe.

"Been waitin' for you, kiddo," one says. He's calm, doesn't giggle and laugh like the other ones do.

He's the one that's been talking to me all along, all my life.

_You could fuck her, Dean. Never mind that she's just a kid. Who'd care? Who'd know?_

_Take your gun out, doubletap this geek in the head, and take the money in the damn wallet. Tell Dad he was dead by the time you got here._

He's every dark thought I ever had, everything I thought about doing and never did.

He taps me between the eyes with his fingers and smirks when I snap at his fingers with my teeth. "You never call, you never write. And those accomodations you stuck us with? Not exactly top of the line, you know?" he shakes his head and the others laugh even though nothing's damn funny.

"Me and the boys were maybe thinkin' that you didn't like us anymore. That's okay, though. We forgive you, 'cause that's the kinda guys we are. We wanna show you around. Give you the grand tour. Some of the folks you couldn't save are here too, and I know they wanna have a word with you."

I am so screwed.

* * *

TBC Wednesday


	7. nine kinds of crazy

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 7 - nine kinds of crazy**_

"You can call me Dark," the one with the smirk says. " 'cause that's what I am." He nods at the others. "I made them, but you made me first."

I turn my head to the side, spit out a glob of dust and dirt. "Glad that seems to be workin' out for ya." My throat hurts, and so does my head.

Dark laughs and the rest of them move in a little closer.

I've seen this kinda thing in the movies. The good guy confronted by his evil twin, I mean. Never thought that much about it before. There's a lot of dumb stuff in movies, especially horror movies. I know that. If I see something stupid on screen I usually sit there and laugh like hell.

I'm not laughing now.

That crazy shine in their eyes is about the worst thing I've ever seen, because I know they're _me_. Every last friggin' one'a them. I can't pretend they aren't, can't pretend I don't know where all this crazy shit is coming from.

Thing is, I'm _not_ the good guy. Tried to kill my own father tonight, remember? Heroes are strong and brave. I'm not.

I'm weak and stupid, otherwise those fugs at the rec center wouldn't have found their way inside my head. I was trained by my Dad to kill all kinds of supernatural bastards. I don't have any excuse, I don't have the luxury of fucking up like this, but I did it just the same.

My head clears enough for me to get a good look around. Everything's flat as a pancake, covered with light brown dust. No buildings, no trees, nothing. Figures. I had this all locked away. All of it. Locked up and here I thought I'd thrown the key away for good. I'm a freak, but I'm not a bad person. 'm not.

"Sure, you're not, Deano," Dark drawls. "You're only human." The sky overhead rumbles, and at first I think it's thunder. That's crazy, right? Thunder? Here inside my head?

He grins at me, and it's the same kind of smirk I'd give a cop or some other dumbass civilian. "Hey, loser. You hear that?" Dark jerks his head up towards the sky. "That's the sound of Dad doing what he does best." He kneels next to me as the others hold me tight. "He's ditching us."

I hear that sound again, and I finally get it. I do. It's the Impala.

Dad's leaving me. He's ditching me.

I wish I could say I feel good about it. I don't. I get so mad my throat closes up. Mouth's so dry I'm strangling for air. I wanna yell and scream and sob at the sky above (_Dad, please, please don't leave me) _but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let these freaks see me bawl like a bitch.

It's better this way. I'm not safe to be around. Dad's gotta get clear of me. It's all good…

"Well, _not_ so good, sport." Dark leans forward and thumps my forehead with his knuckles, like he's thumping a melon.

_What the fuck…_

_"¿Su cabeza es mi cabeza, recuerda?"_ He thumps his right temple with one knuckle. "Your head is my head, remember? All we really have to do is show up at Bobby's place. Bobby'll call Dad. The old man'll probably come by Bobby's place, just out of curiosity. Then we'll kill 'em both."

"You leave them alone. You got me. You don't need Bobby. Or Dad."

Dark snorts. "Aw, c'mon, Dean. Still the good son, huh? Even with your head all fucked up? Even after those fugs broke down all the walls inside you and let out the truth?" Dark rolls his eyes. "It's okay. You don't really mean that. You still wanna, don't you? I can tell. You still wanna see Dad beat half to hell." He leans in, and we're nose to nose.

I must be one sick fuck, because I do want to see that. This is Dad's fault. If he hadn't left me, I wouldn't be like this…

"You still wanna feel his blood on your knuckles," Dark reaches out and runs his fingers through my hair. "Give him back all the shit he's been givin' you all these years."

I don't even struggle. I tell myself that's because they're holding me tight and I can't move. It's a damn lie and I think we all know that, because some of the others start laughing.

"Fuck you. You hear me, you stupid bastard? Fuck you ---"

"Really? Ya wanna?" Dark's eyes widen like he's surprised or something. "Okay."

The others start crowding all around me then, licking at my skin, groping and pawing on me, all between my legs, all over my body. Yeah, I know. Technically, I'm playing with myself. I got fingers in my ears, they're tugging at my fly and the waistband of my jeans. Fucked up doesn't even begin to cover _this_. One of them tries to stick his tongue in my mouth.

When I snap at him with my teeth the bastard laughs like a damn hyena.

"Son of a bitch --- get off, you pricks, get the hell off me!" I'm growling and pulling at the ropes holding me down. That only makes them laugh and rub up against me even harder. Each time they touch me I remember something I did, or almost did, or thought about.

_Sammy had the flu that time, and he was just a little kid. Couldn't have been older than four, maybe five. He wouldn't stop crying, I couldn't make him stop crying._

_I thought about making him shut the hell up once and for all. _

They're inside my head, they all are. I think about the stuff I stole, food mostly, sometimes clothes, blankets, that Sam and I needed while Dad was off hunting. It was easier when Sam was little, when he was too young to ask me where I got the stuff from. I'd steal toys and stuff that I thought he'd like, and we were too damn poor to buy. Got harder later on, like those Christmas presents I took that time when he was nine and was old enough to bust me. We needed things, so I took. It was my way of getting even with the world, I guess. I didn't take a hell of a lot, but even so Dad noticed. I know he did. He raised an eyebrow when he saw some of the stuff, but he didn't ask.

Maybe he should have. What the hell kind of father leaves his kids for weeks at a time like that?

There were times I wanted to...wanted to kick Dad's ass when he finally came back home.

Dark stands up, cocks his head to one side and smiles as the Impala's engine fades off into the distance.

_He left me. He left me…_

I pull against the ropes with my arms and legs, and a couple of the freaks with my face lose their balance, nearly face plant into the dirt. That almost makes me grin, until I look up and see this one standing by my left shoulder.

He's wearing jeans and this faded black AC/DC shirt I bought at a thrift store a couple of summers ago. We had a run of bad luck with the credit cards while we stayed in Cleveland, Ohio. It was one thing after another. Sammy caught a bug at school, brought it home, and I was hurling all over the place in no time. I sure in the hell couldn't go to school, but I didn't mind that. I couldn't hunt, either.

I blamed Dad. I didn't say anything, but deep down inside I blamed him just the same.

When we moved away I forgot to pack this shirt with my stuff. Left it in the apartment we rented. I dunno…wearing it made me feel weird. I can't explain it any better than that.

First thing I notice is that the dude wearing the AC/DC shirt's_ really_ pissed.

Second thing I notice is that pipe in his hands.

He nails me in the chest with it first, and he's frothing at the mouth, spit flying everywhere. That knocks the breath outta me, and that's only the beginning. Blows are raining down on me from all directions, hands, feet, sticks and more pipes, and I'm tied down, so where am I gonna go, huh?

I buck against the ropes and I can feel the tears on my face, but I'm mad and scared and pissed off all at the same time. I can't curl into a ball, try to make myself as small a target as possible, so I close my eyes and I'm screaming and cussing and promising to kill every last one of 'em. It's all bullshit, but I do it anyway. No whimpering, remember?

For a moment I think that maybe if they kill me it'll be all over. I get nailed in my right eye and that warm sticky stuff running down my neck can't be good. Got a busted lip from the feel of it, couple of busted ribs, judging from that sharp pain in the right side of my chest. I promise myself I won't scream out as they keep pounding on me.

I break that promise when the end of that pipe punches into the top of my left thigh, through my jeans, right down to my hipbone.

Everything goes white then, but I don't pass out. That's the crazy thing. I kinda…fade away. It's like somebody's slowly turning the picture and sound down all around me. I can still feel the blows against my body, but it's faraway, like it's in another room, happening to somebody else.

The sound comes back up some time later, and I'm curled on my side. My wrists and ankles are raw and bleeding from the ropes. My left hip throbs each and every time I breathe.

I don't know how I got loose.

One of the crazies, the one with the pipe that started this whole beatdown in the first place, is lying on the ground in front of me. He's gurgling and his eyes have gone stone white. His whole body is shaking and jittering like he's being zapped with an electric shock.

Takes me a few seconds to realize just what the hell I'm looking at. Then my eyes clear and I still don't believe what I'm looking at.

Dark's got his fingers stuck inside the other one's forehead.

The dude on the ground folds up onto himself, goes all wrinkled like a damn raisin or something, and I swear I hear this slurping sound as the rest of him gets sucked up into Dark's fingers like milkshake up a straw.

He sits up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Sorry. I leak sometimes, y'know? Even when I was behind the wall I'd leak. The rest of 'em? They were small enough, they got through the cracks. I was too big. I couldn't." He sits back on his heels and stares me up and down. "Hey, don't give me that fish eye, all right? You're fucked up in the head. So what the hell else do you expect? Hearts and flowers?"

He gets up and walks over to me. I can't lift my arms, can't stop him when he reaches down and grabs me by the collar of my jacket.

"…don't touch me…don't you fucking touch me…"

"Now don't be like that. I'm not gonna do anything to you."

Next thing I know I'm on my feet, and he throws my right arm around his shoulders, puts his other arm around my waist. My left hip hurts like a bitch, and I can't put that foot flat on the ground.

"Where…where the hell are we going?"

"Got a treat for you, dude. 'm not exactly in a sharing and caring mood right now, so my boys had to go inside and sit this one out. It's just you and me. Think you're gonna enjoy the hell outta this." He grins at me again, and I'm too fucking tired and broken up to pull away. "We got places to go and people to see. Let's go."

* * *

I start limping pretty badly after a few feet. My left hip hurts so bad I'm leaning on him, but he takes it all in stride. Dark just grins at me and tightens his grip around my waist and my wrist. I'm not going anywhere. I sure as hell can't run off. "I knew you were comin.' Got just the thing to make you feel better."

"Jesus, don't you ever shut the hell up?"

I glance down (can't feel my toes on my left foot) and when I look up again everything has changed.

* * *

"Places to go" looks like Clifton Falls, Indiana. One main street, right off Interstate 27. In the dictionary next to "one horse town" there's a picture of the place, probably.

One thing is I _don't_ remember is all these dead people walking around.

First one that walks by is older than Dad. Can't really tell how tall he really is, 'cause he's holding his head in his hands. The stump of his neck looks like it's been gnawed off, and his eyes track me as we limp by.

"You remember, this, don't ya, Dean?" Dark chirps. "Had some good times here, right? Good times."

Good times my ass. I remember this place.

I almost got killed here.

Seems the good people of Clifton Falls decided to spice up life by making a deal with a dyyunn when the main highway bypassed their quaint little burg years ago. A dyyun's a cross between an earth elemental and a witch. It likes to eat people and doesn't have any problem making deals to get its meals.

The town had a really good run of good luck after they sealed the deal, and to make sure the good times kept right on rolling they had to feed the beastie three sacrifices every six months. Yep. You guessed it. Me, Dad and Sam were passing through. We weren't about to serve ourselves up on the menu, and when the fugly didn't get fed, the fugly got irate.

The body count got pretty high. About twenty five people, I think. We were dodging the local cops and trying to kill the fucker at the same time. It ain't as easy as we make it look.

I see other walking corpses stumbling down the street. Some had their arms ripped out of their sockets, some of them were hollowed out the same way you'd scoop out a melon. I can tell by the way some of them look at me that they know who I am, and they look like they want a little payback.

This woman wearing a bloody pearl grey business suit stops in the middle of the street and glares at me, and I glare right back at her. She's ripped open, from her throat to her belly, and the top of her head's been gnawed off. She was the mayor of the town, older chick by the name of Karen Rice. She could have stopped it.

She should have and she didn't.

"Wasn't our fault," I growl at her. "You hear me, you dumb, greedy bitch? It wasn't." She just stands there with her eyes glittering flat and black as we limp by. "Who the hell makes deals with these fugs anyway?"

"Ah, don't mind them, dude." Dark doesn't miss a beat. "They were stupid and they paid the price. Speaking of which, I still think Dad shoulda charged some of these bastards for getting rid of the nasties in the first place. Hey, I'm just sayin'."

He doesn't miss a beat, doesn't stop talking. Just drags me along like a duffel bag. "I got all the toys I could think of. Mainly stuff you remembered all these years. We'll take it nice and slow. Ah hah, here we are."

"Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?"

I blink and I miss it. We're standing in the hallway of some hotel somewhere. Nice one, this time. Beige carpet on the floor, walls are painted off white. Looks fairly clean. Doesn't smell like urine or disinfectant. No chalk outlines on the floor or police crime scene tape on any of the doors. We stayed in a couple of nice places. I know we did.

"Hey. Here we are." Room 1042.

The pain in my left hip flares up as he walks me forward. We're through the door and I stand there wobbling as Dark reaches behind us and pulls it close.

The place is empty except for a king-sized bed and a wooden table nearby. The table is loaded with just about every cutting instrument I've ever seen, or used: axes, Bowie knives, icepicks, bayonets.

"Honey, we're home!" Dark calls out, and the man on the bed just blinks. He's spreadeagled on his back, tied to the bedposts by his wrists and ankles. I see a dusty, blood stained olive green t shirt, faded blue jeans with slash marks all over.

It's Dad.

* * *

"D-Dad?"

I nearly fall flat on my face. Dark comes up behind me and holds me up. "Easy, tiger. Told you you were gonna like this."

"What…what the hell is this? How'd Dad ---"

"How'd he get inside our head? Dude, that's what all parents do. That's how they fuck us up for life, y'know. He's not really Dad. Well, he is. He's everything Dad ever said or did to us, and we gotta get rid of him. It's the only way we're ever gonna have a life of our own. Got to cut it out. Nice and slow. It's like a cancer. I didn't wanna start without you."

I can't say anything. Can't think. I can't even hear my heart beat. I don't feel myself breathing, either.

"Here, Dean."

I barely feel it when something slick and metal slides into my right my hand. I stare down at it, blink slow and stupid, and I see it's a knife. It looks like a silver claw, and that's when I remember that Sam had one just like it.

He took it with him when he went to Stanford.

When he left _me_.

"You'll help me, right? I know you will." Dark puts his chin on my shoulder. "Say it. Say yes."

I stare down at Dad, and he stares right back at me. He's bleeding down the left side of his face.

I can't read his expression.

I think of all the times he gave an order and I obeyed, never questioned any of it.

All those damn times. And it never was good enough.

_I_ was never good enough.

My throat's still sore, but I hear myself whisper. "Yes."

* * *

Two more chaps after this one, folks. Next chapter will be posted Thursday.


	8. there's no place like home

**_A/N:_** More angst, and cussing. Italics indicate thoughts and Dean's memories.

* * *

_**Chapter 8 - there's** **no place like home**_

My left hip hurts like a bitch. I ache all over, right down to my bones.

"All _this_…everything that's happened to you tonight," Dark whispers, and I swear this bastard doesn't even open his mouth when he says it, "it's because of _him_. You know that, bro'."

I open my mouth to say something smartass. Something. _Anything._

I got nothing.

All I can do is stutter. "T-that's not…h-he's not D-Dad."

"Yeah, he is. And you_ know_ he is."

I don't look at his face. Dad's face. _I can't_. I stare at the ropes around his wrists and ankles instead. The ropes are stained with paint.

Takes a few more seconds before I realize that dark red splatter's not paint. It's blood.

I keep hearing this little kid's voice inside my head.

_"Gonna be a big brother, Daddy." The kid chirped, and he's so damn innocent and excited he's jumping up and down._

Everything's fine.

Everything's fucking golden.

I know who the kid is. I know...

_"Gonna be the best big brother in the whole world!"_

_Dad smiled at me as Mom hugged me. "Sure you are, bud. I know you will be."_

Mom was pregnant with Sam.

My hand tightens around the slick black handle of the claw knife.

Some big brother I was. Sam left me too.

My throat closes up so quick I feel like I'm gonna strangle. I breathe through my nose, hard and fast. My arm shakes. Dark leans into me and I jump when he touches me. Sonofabitch is cold now. Ice cold. I didn't notice that before. I glance back at him over my shoulder and I can see right through him. I keep my game face on but this crap is freaking me out. I can't see anything but dark clouds in there, boiling and bumping against his skin.

"You do this," Dark whispers into my ear, "and we'll be free. From here on out. No more fucking Marine lectures."

_"This is how you hold the knife, Dean." Dad's skin was rough and warm against my hand as he showed me how to grip. "Keep the blade away from your body. Always keep it pointed towards your target."_

Dark looks down at Dad and grins. "No more 'Dean do this, Dean do that.'"

_"You need to stay here and clean all the weapons, Dean. Don't make me tell you again."_

"Then we'll pay dear ol' Dad a visit in real time. And after that, maybe we'll go to Palo Alto." Dark barks out a laugh, rough and gleeful.

_"You're Dad's good little soldier, Dean. __That's all you think you are. Don't you realize you can be more than that?"_

"Dude. Can you imagine the look on Sam's face when we show up?"

"Hey, Dean," Dad says softly. I lift my head up, and when I look him in the eyes I'm caught.

The skin around his eyes crinkles. He looks sad and tired, eyes all red and blood shot and I'm wondering how I can fall for something like this. Just another mind fuck, the latest in a long line of 'em tonight. That's all this is. This isn't Dad. Can't be.

_"Come n' play with me, Daddy. I wanna play ball."_

_"Sure, Dean. Come on, buddy. Let's go out in the back your with your Momma and you can pitch a few balls to your old man."_

"Shut up," I mumble to myself. "Shut the hell up…"

"It's okay, son. It's okay."

"You're not my Dad. You're not." I shake my head. "It's _not_ okay, you hear me?" My voice gets louder. "_I'm_ not okay ---"

My right hand moves. I raise the knife up and flick it sideways, stripe a line on Dad's face, from just underneath his right eye down to the corner of his mouth.

"That's right. You gonna play with him a little first, huh?" Dark sounds like he's getting off on this. He tries to lean over my shoulder. I don't look back. I can feel him pushing me forward.

My hand moves again, and I slash Dad across his chest. He flinches, bucks upward, but he never stops looking at me.

He looks like Dad, and he's looking at me like Dad would, but he's not, _he's not..._

I turn the knife sideways, nail him across his right shoulder.

He doesn't get mad. His face doesn't change.

"Stop lookin' at me like that, you hear me?" My hand is moving and I want it to stop I don't want it to stop, and I just keep right on moving, hitting him with the knife…

_Late June. I'm sitting on the porch of that house Dad rented for us in Sioux Falls. I turned fifteen earlier that year, but we were moving around hunting so much my birthday was just another day. I didn't mind._

_At least, that's what I told myself._

_Dad sat down beside me, put the package in my lap. What the hell. It's in one of those white plastic grocery bags, but it's got a blue bow on it. _

_Dad shrugged. "Things got a little hectic earlier. Just a little something I thought you'd like…"_

_My hands shook as I unwrapped the box. Thought it was a gun, or a knife. _

_It was tapes. My music. AC/DC. Metallica. Brand new, still shrink wrapped. _

_I hugged Dad so hard I think I heard bones in his spine crack a little. __I could feel Dad grin. He patted me on the back. "Happy birthday, Dean."_

Another knife stroke, down his side this time.

"Stop it…stop it…"

I see blood, more blood, on his clothes, on the sheets and everything.

Dark laughs.

I hold the knife sideways, turn around and slash Dark right across the throat.

I know I got him right across his jugular. There's no blood spray. He bleeds puffs of thick black smoke.

Dark coughs. I don't like the sound, so I slash at him again and again. I make him back up, drive him backwards towards the door. I don't remember how I got the door open and pushed him through, but I must have, because it's just me and Dad in the room now.

"Dad…"

His eyes are closed, but I see his lips move. "…'s okay…."

I hang onto the knife just long enough to cut the fucking ropes off him, and then my skin starts crawling from touching the damn thing and I throw it into a far corner.

I gotta get Dad to a safe place, far away from here. All the while I'm talking to him, whispering stuff like "You're fine", and "I got you, Dad, I got you."

That's a fucking joke, right? I'm the reason he's like this in the first place.

I lift him off the bed with one arm slung over my shoulder and walk him towards the window. We're two stories up.

And there's a fire escape outside.

_**"DEAN! DEAN!"**_

_Shit._

I head out of the window first, only because Dad's half out of it and he needs me to guide him down.

_**"YOU STUPID SONOFABITCH!"**_

The door bows inward, and I hear myself whispering, "Just hold him back, just one more second, one more…"

I don't know why I'm doing that. Don't know who I'm talking to. It seems to work. Dark stays out in the hallway. He doesn't get in.

Not yet, anyway.

_**"GONNA FUCK YOU UP, DEAN. YOU HEAR ME? GONNA FUCK YOU UP GOOD, AND AFTER I DO, I'M GONNA PUT YOU BEHIND THE SAME WALL YOU PUT ME BEHIND ALL THESE YEARS…"**_

The walls start shaking, and hell, that can't be good.

_**"YOU"LL BE IN THE DARK JUST LIKE I WAS, AND YOU'RE NEVER GONNA GET OUT, YOU HEAR ME, YOU DUMB PRICK? NEVER GONNA GET OUT!"**_

Dad nearly face plants into the pavement once we jump down from the ladder. I put his arm around my neck, and I can hear Dark screaming and roaring in the apartment right above us. He's throwing a fit. The building's shaking, and the front door of the apartment flies out of the window and splinters into kindling when it hits the street.

Dad can't run, he can barely stand up as it is. My fault. My damn fault. I ripped him up pretty good. That dark sonofabitch is gonna catch up to us and rip us both to pieces because I fucked up. We gotta hole up, get someplace safe.

I see twenty five dead people on the street, and I should have known better to think that we're home free now.

They turn around and stare at us.

I cock my head to one side as I hear one of them whisper. "Winchester."

_Crap._

All of them start shuffling forward, and that's when I wish I hadn't thrown away that fuckin' claw knife.

"We died because of you," the one in the lead whispers. Half his face is gone, ripped off, but he never takes the one eye he's got left off me and Dad. He's a big dude, taller than Sam. He still looks lively enough to rip my damn head off. There's this young girl shuffling along behind him, but at first I can't get a good look at her.

I recognize the rest of them from different jobs. That one was killed by a black dog. That other one was drowned by a vengeful spirit. The others died in just about every way you can imagine, died from fire, had the life sucked out of them by some fugly, you name it. I back up, pull Dad with me, and above us the window we just climbed out of explodes outward. Bricks and pieces of wood hit the ground all around us.

"Ace," Dad mutters dazedly, "we gotta go."

"No shit. Go? Go where?" One of them gets close enough to try to grab at us. I knock its hand away and backpedal with Dad in the direction I don't want to go: back towards the apartment building. It's the only open space.

They're herding us.

I see hands reaching out at us, and it's only a matter of time before they decide to rush us. And when they do, I'm gonna make the sorry sonsabitches work for it.

"You can make things happen in this place."

"What?"

"All this," Dad rolls his eyes skyward. "It's yours. We gotta get the hell outta here. We're stuck here only if you think we are."

"Can't...can't be that friggin' easy."

Dad grins a little. "Why do you wanna make this so damn hard?"

They're so close I can smell them: dried blood, rotten meat, and bile. The smell of burned flesh fills my nose and I start thinking_ t__here's no place like home. There's no place like home..._

Something's happening, and I don't know what it is. I look at the girl in the Green Day t shirt, and she's dead and bloody and mangled, just like the rest of them are. Her throat's been cut from ear to ear. We finally get a really good look at each other, and she turns an even paler shade of dead grey and falls to her knees on the sidewalk, shaking and crying.

Then Dad and I are gone. We fade out, go _somewhere_, but I get it. I do.

That was Anne Marie.

* * *

We're in a house somewhere. Doesn't look any different from any other abandoned, boarded up place I've ever been in before. There's just enough light coming in so that I can walk around without falling down and breaking my frigging neck. I know it's not good enough. I know that.

Dark's gonna find us. I know he is.

I can hear him off in the distance, laughing, but I try not to listen as I sit Dad down with his back against the wall. He's not bleeding anymore, and I can tell by that look on his face that he's got something on his mind.

I don't want to hear it. My fingers have started shaking again. I limp over to the window and bend down, take a look out between the boards. The sky overhead is getting dark.

Dark booms in the distance._** "COME ON, DEAN. WHY YOU GOTTA BE LIKE THIS, HUH?"**_

He's close. Won't be long now.

"Dude," Dad says hoarsely. "You gotta go back." He leans his head and shoulders back against the wall, and I can almost imagine that everything's fine, that Dad and I are waiting for the fugly we're hunting to show up.

Everything good. Everything's normal.

Except we're being hunted by the darkness inside me and I don't have squat to defend us with.

"Go back? Where?" I laugh and shake my head. "I got nowhere else to go."

"Bullshit." Dad grates out. "Those bastards opened you up, but you can put everything in here back the same way it was before."

"You're not my Dad." I try to straighten up and my left hip starts singing opera. Christ, it hurts so bad I wanna start screaming. My game face slips and I try not to groan as pain throbs from my hip to my toes. "I don't even know why I'm listening to you."

"I'm everything John Winchester ever told you. Everything he ever taught you, all the love he ever gave you."

"Love?" That's enough to make me snort. "My Dad? You really expect me to fucking believe that?"

"Hell yeah." Dad rumbles. He leans forward as I finally stagger back, put my back against the far wall and slide down. I can't stand up anymore. I can't run anymore.

"I didn't leave you. I didn't. You gotta believe that. Open your eyes, Dean."

The ground shakes and the building moves.

_**"WAKEY WAKEY, DEAN. I FOUND YOU. I FOUND YOU AND DEAR OLD DADDY…"**_

"You gotta go, Dean. You gotta trust me on this. I didn't leave you."

" 'm tired. I'm so fucking tired…"

"I know you are, Ace. You do this one thing for me, and I promise this will all go away. You gotta open your eyes, kiddo." The house shakes again, and Dark laughs again, loud and cheerful. "Right fucking _now_," Dad grits out. I recognize the tone. It's an order, not a request.

"What about you?"

Dad grins, bright and wicked. "I'm always _here_, Dean. I'm not going anywhere, no matter what."

The house starts shaking. It's coming apart all around us, and the last thing I see as I close my eyes is Dad sitting there with his back against the wall, defiant as always.

Dad smirks. "Come on, you sonofabitch! You can do better than that!"

The roof overhead opens up and Dark comes pouring in like a thunder cloud.

* * *

I hear this rumble all around me, and I open my eyes.

This might be some illusion, something else my fucked up brain decided to come up with, but I know it's not. This is real.

First thing I see is the open road out in front of me. We're out on the highway somewhere, and we're rolling. The girl's engine sounds just a little off. She might need a tune-up.

I'm sitting in the Impala, on the passenger side of the bench seat. I can't move, and I don't know why until I look down at myself.

My right arm's duct-taped to my right leg, just above my knee. My left arm is taped to my left leg. My ankles are taped together too. I wiggle my shoulders and I can't move. There's duct tape around my upper shoulders and my chest too.

My Dad doesn't do things halfway.

He glances away from the road for a second, looks at me and chuckles. "Glad to have you back, princess."

I laugh out loud. I sound like a damn fool, but right now I don't give a fuck.

* * *

Not my regular cliffie, huh? That's okay. This story isn't over yet. The next installment will be posted this weekend, and the last chapter will be posted Tuesday.


	9. lost and found

_**A/N: **_We've had the Dean whump, and now here's the start of the comfort, John Winchester style.

* * *

_**Chapter 9 – lost and found**_

I don't want to start bawling like some bitch, but I'm close. My eyes feel funny, kinda gritty and wet. My muscles start shaking as I take a deep breath, about as deep as I can with all the duct tape Dad's got wound around me.

_He didn't ditch me. _

_Damn… _

This early in the morning there's not a lot of traffic out here. Dad's keeping one eye on me and the other on the road ahead. _Well, duh._ All night long I've been trying to kill him or kick his ass.

"You didn't leave me…"

Dad grunts and flicks a puzzled glance at me, and that's when I get it.

_Damn. I said that out loud. _

"Leave you?" Dad rumbles. "What made you think I left you?"

Right about that time "What" decides to open its big damn mouth.

"He only wants you around because you're his good little soldier," Dark yells inside my head. The sound of his voice digs into me like somebody put an icepick in both ears. I close my eyes and I can see the bastard standing on a street somewhere. He looks like me now. His eyes are pitch black, and his throat's ripped open from where I nailed him with that claw knife.

"He's playing Daddy now because he feels guilty."

I feel my mouth move. "Fuck you."

Dad's voice sounds far away, like it's coming from a distance. "Dean? What's going on, kiddo?"

"Don't you _get_ it, you dumb sonofabitch?" Dark snarls.

Can't listen to him. I can't. I got to focus on something else…anything else…

"Those bastards opened you up," the other Dad told me, "but you can put everything in here back the same way it was before."

A good idea is a damn good idea.

Dark cusses and screams as the street opens up and swallows him up. The pavement closes up over his head and I can't hear him anymore.

"I got out of there," I hear myself whisper under my breath. "I'm clear. Got nothing to worry about anymore. I'm out. I'm clear." Doesn't matter that I'm saying this out loud. I haven't exactly been the poster boy for normal tonight. Dad thinking I've gone mental is the least of my worries.

" 'm out. I'm clear." I tell myself that over and over again for I don't know how long, and then it hits me all of a sudden that something's not right.

We're not moving anymore. I can tell we're not moving, and for some reason that scares the hell outta me.

I open my eyes and the Impala's parked on the shoulder of the highway. The engine's still running. The headlights are still on but the driver's side door is closed and Dad's gone.

_Dad's gone…_

This little voice fills my head, and it's weak and scared and it's not Dark but it's me and _I didn't get out, I only thought I did and this is how it's all gonna end, me stuck here like this forever he ditched me Dad ditched me ---_

Dark's laughing inside my head. I was so fucking stupid to think everything had changed. I close my eyes again. Dumb move, but I don't want to open my eyes either. I'm screwed either way.

_Sam's gone, Dad left me, and I should have known better, this is all a joke, a fucking bad joke._ My face is wet, and I'm crying and laughing at the same time. I can't move and it doesn't matter, 'cause nobody else is around ---

"Dean!" Dad barks, and I crack one eye open.

Dad settles onto the bench seat, pulls the door close behind him. "Calm down."

_Huh._

_This isn't real, you jackass. Dad left us, _Dark's growling at me._ He didn't come back. We're freaks, remember? Everybody who loves us, leaves us--- _

"Shut up." That only makes Dark laugh even harder. "Shut the hell up."

I jerk back when I see something coming right at my eyes. I blink some more, and then I see it, and why the hell is Dad's thumb in my face?

There's some kind of shiny stuff smeared on it, too. Smells like flowers.

"Wha ---what the fuck is that?"

"Language, dude, language." Dad's thumb is slick against my skin. He makes the sign of the cross between my eyes, and I wrinkle my nose up. The smell isn't _that _bad, but I don't wanna smell like damn flowers ---

"Lavender and rosemary oils," Dad shrugs. "Pastor Jim blessed it."

Dad stares at my face, watches me like a friggin' hawk. _Geez, awkward much?_

I put those bruises on him. I hit my Dad…

I drop my eyes down and stare at my knees.

"Dean?" Dad says softly. I flinch when he gently puts his hand out and lifts my chin up. "Hey, kiddo. Look at me, now. Stay with me."

The noise inside my head dies down.

Dad stares at me, hard. I don't know what he's looking for, or what he sees, but he nods like he just saw whatever the fuck he was looking for. "Good. Now drink this."

I push back against the seat and scowl as he pushes a blue water bottle towards my mouth, tilts it up just enough where I can take a sip. It's lukewarm, so I don't have to worry about cramping. I drink nearly all of it, real slow, and I never realized how thirsty I was before. I sit back when Dad pulls the bottle away, and he just sits there staring at me. The look gets weird and awkward in a heartbeat. Dad stares at my face, like he's waiting for something.

And a few seconds later I find out just what he's waiting for.

My gut does this slow greasy turn that pushes its way up my throat. My mouth tastes like burnt sulfur and I nearly lose it then. Everything I've eaten or drunk in the last twenty four hours is gonna come back up on me big time. Which probably includes any water I swallowed at the rec center, and…and…

I got tongued by a dead chick.

Anne Marie stuck her tongue in my mouth…

… and so did…

…so did that albino bastard with the tats.

_Son of a bitch ---_

I gag, clamp my lips shut and jerk forward, and Dad puts his hand on my chest, pushes me back while he leans over me. The passenger door swings open and before I know it we're outside on the shoulder of the road, some distance away from the Impala. Dad bends me over, holds me by my collar and my back waistband so I don't face plant and I start hurling, big time.

Damn stuff that comes up is thick, pale green and nasty.

When I come back to myself first thing I notice is that my throat's raw. Dad's sitting on the ground with his back against the car, and I'm sitting on the ground between his legs.

"Hey. Dean?" Dad's voice shakes a little, and that bothers me. I've been patching him up for years now, and I can tell when he's hurting or tired when nobody else can.

I saw him flinch as he pushed me out of the car. His jacket's still bloody from that hole in his shoulder. I got a damn good look at those bruises on the side of his face.

_I_ did all that.

_Me._

"You okay, bud?"

I do feel a little better, like I got emptied out. Throat's raw; and I'm almost afraid to ask, but I got to.

"What the… hell…was _that_?"

"A spew drink."

"Uh huh." _Okay. Not doin' that again any time soon. _

"Okay." Dad reaches back into the Impala and pulls out this other water bottle, a clear plastic one this time.

_Crap. Not again. _

I give him the eye. " 'm fine," I croak. I shake my head as I stare at the bottle. "Just super."

Dad laughs. "You're dehydrated, dumbass. This is regular water. Nothing added."

"Oh." I frown up when he uncaps the bottle and pushes it towards my mouth. I drink half and then we both sit there waiting.

Nothing happens, so I drink the rest.

* * *

We're back on the road a few minutes later.

Throat's still sore, and all I can say is one word: "Where?"

"We're a few miles away from the state line. Farmhouse's on the other side, remember? We can hole up there for a week or two."

_Crap_. I would have remembered that if my damn brain hadn't been scrambled.

The farmhouse is a gift from one of our clients. One of our extremely grateful, wealthy clients. I've got a set of keys, and so does Dad. The place is a little more high-end than we're used to. It's well maintained, just like the luxury hotels this lady owns. A while back Dad and I took care of a vengeful spirit one of her competitors sent after her family, and by the end of it Dad and I got rid of the damn thing and we'd made a friend for life. Sam had pneumonia that time, stayed with Pastor Jim in Blue Earth while we worked the job.

Sam and I got into it when Dad and I got back. Sam was pissed, said that living the way we do was gonna kill us, said that Dad didn't give a damn about anything but the hunt.

I told Sam to shut the hell up, and he got right up in my face. He stuck his chin out like he was daring me to hit him. I looked down, felt my right hand curl up into a fist.

I wanted to kick his ass, but he was still wheezing and shaky and I wanted to believe he didn't really mean what he was saying, so I left the house, took a long walk around Pastor Jim's place.

When I got back Sam gave me the cold shoulder for three whole days.

Couldn't understand it back then, and I still don't. We had a nice life. Hell, I thought we did. It was never enough for Sam, and I still don't get why.

_Stupid sonofabitch._

I feel calmer. I do. I'm still duct-taped, and I can't blame Dad for that. Dark's rustling around inside my head, poking around at the edges, trying to dig his way out, but it's no good. He's in too deep, but I can still hear him.

I don't want to hear this now. I never…never would admit this to anybody, but…

'm…'m scared.

Scared the dark will drag me back inside.

Scared this isn't real.

"D-Dad? Talk to me?"

"What?"

"You mind? T-talk to me?"

Dad quirks an eyebrow at me. "Don't you want to go to sleep, bud? You had a long night."

"I don't…I don't wanna be inside my head right now. Please?"

"Okay. Pick your poison. What do you wanna hear?"

"Whatever you wanna talk about. I just…I wanna hear your voice."

Dad stares at me for a moment, then he shrugs. "Okay." He gives me this look, slightly wide-eyed, like he's seeing a whole new side of me he's never seen before.

Dad talks, and I focus on the sound of his voice.

He didn't leave me. No matter what other gruesome shit I've got running around inside this fucked up head of mine, no matter what I did to him tonight….he didn't leave me.

Dad…my Dad _loves _me.

I gotta believe that. Otherwise…what's the point? What's the fucking _point _of all of this?

I'm not crying about my life. I play the hand I got dealt. It just seems to me that I've lost so much, so fucking much, if I think about it for too long…

I try not to think about it. I might do something crazy if I do.

Dad talks about just about any and everything. He talks about the first time he saw me, right after I was born. He talks about chasing me around the house, playing hide-and-seek with me. I remember all that. I remember hiding in closets, hiding in the dark, trying not to giggle as Dad came prowling around, play-growling like a big bad wolf or a giant or something.

I didn't know how good I had it then.

Didn't know that the shadows really _do_ have teeth.

I saw Mom the night she died. I never told anybody. Not even Dad. I saw her on the ceiling of the nursery, right over Sam's crib. She looked so pale and sad, and when she saw me staring up at her I think she said she was "sorry."

Sorry for what? I don't know. I was a kid, remember? Just a stupid little kid who had it good the first four years of his life, and then the rug got pulled out from underneath him.

I stare out at the road ahead, let Dad's voice carry me along. I get lost in it, and that's just damn fine with me. I listen to the sound of his voice, and it's almost as low as the rumble of the girl's engine. I feel safe when I hear it. I can deal. With just about anything.

My eyes are open, but I can see what's inside my head. I see all the dead people in there, all the ones I carried all this time, the ones I couldn't save. Even if they were stupid, and some of them sure in the hell were, no one deserves to die like that.

I know their names. I remember the places where they died, how they died.

I can put a name to all the things that killed them.

I listen to Dad's voice, and I block out their voices for a while. They curse and scream at me, and I start walling them back up, one by one. I don't get them all, but it's a start.

Dad talks, and it's not a Marine lecture he's giving me. He talks about me and Sam, and not on hunts either. Dad talks about the little things, the day to day stuff. Yeah, _normal_, nice even, back when Sam was Sammy and he was little and he didn't question or bitch about every damn thing.

It wasn't all about the hunt. I think sometimes Sam forgets that. There were times I took him to fireworks shows on the fourth of July. Once we even went to an air show at this air base over in Illinois. Walked around, looked at the planes. Food over there was as expensive as hell, but I had money I'd earned from hustling pool a couple of nights before. We ate hot dogs, cotton candy and junk all day, came home later that night grinning like idiots.

Later, though? When _Sammy_ became _Sam_? Nothing satisfied him. Nothing. He'd pull that bitchface of his when Dad went out and bought the wrong kind of toothpaste. Towards the end, right before he left, Sam pushed Dad about damn near everything, and Dad pushed back.

It's just me and Dad now. Sam packed his duffel on that last day and he hasn't looked back since. I don't know if he hates me, but we haven't spoken for a while.

The way I feel about Sam is down there, in the dark. I can't hate my own brother. I just can't.

But sometimes…sometimes I do.

Dad talks about Mom, how beautiful she was, like an angel, the first time he ever laid eyes on her back in Lawrence. When she tucked me in for the night Mom used to tell me that angels were watching over me. I used to believe that.

I don't anymore.

Feathered bastards. I wasn't the one they needed to watch.

* * *

_**TBC and concluded this week.**_


	10. not the poster boy for normal

**_A/N: There's cussing in this one. Cover your ears, young'uns._**_**

* * *

**_**_Chapter 10 – not the poster boy for normal_**

I jerk myself awake some time later. Don't know how long I was out. I can still hear Dark scratching around inside my head, but I can't make out the words.

We're sitting on the shoulder of the road again. The engine's running, and the headlights are on. I blink a couple of times, and for a moment I think things never changed. Then I look over at the driver's side. Dad's sitting there looking at me.

And he's got his pocket knife in his hand.

My throat's dry. I sit up as straight as I can. "Yeah? What?" Damn, I sound like one'a those frogs on those Saturday morning cartoon shows I used to watch with Sam.

Dad quirks an eyebrow at me. He's staring at my eyes again. Then: "Figured it's time to cut you loose."

"Huh?" I blank out for a moment. He's gonna ditch me after all this?

"Dean," Dad says quietly, and he motions downward.

I look down and yep, I'm still duct-taped up like a bad care package at Christmas. "Oh."

"You're not gonna try to kill me, are ya?" Dad says calmly.

I freeze up then. "Uh….no."

"Good." Dad leans in and starts cutting me loose. I take a deep breath as soon as the tape's off, stretch my arms and legs as much as I can. I don't wanna get out of the car. Not gonna get out of the car.

If I do, he might…he might leave me.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Everything feels awkward now. I turn sideways on the bench seat, towards the window. I hunch my shoulders up, pull the collar of my jacket around my neck. I want to ask him. Want to ask Dad what he sees when he looks at me, why he keeps staring at my face and eyes.

I don't though. I don't think I could stand hearing the wrong answer: "I'm just looking at the damn fuck-up who almost got me killed tonight?"

Don't know where_ that_ came from. It comes quick and it goes out even quicker. I'm tired, and when I close my eyes I don't dream. It's all black, and that's a good thing.

* * *

I can sleep anywhere, no matter how noisy it is. That used to drive Sam apeshit. He'd huddle there all annoyed and anxious, and I'd curl up in a corner and catch a quick nap. Noise doesn't bother me, and I can't tell you how many times I've dozed off with the television blasting, or jackhammers going off at a construction project next door or down the street.

Yeah, I'd laugh every single time when I saw how prissy Sam got. Hey, that's what big brothers do, all right?

I can't hear my girl's engine anymore, even in my sleep. It's too quiet all of a sudden, and I open my eyes.

It's still dark outside. We're not moving. I'm looking at the farmhouse, and it doesn't look like much from the outside. Two stories, wooden porch railings, white siding. Look in the dictionary; there's a picture of this place by the word "country." There's even a large red wooden barn over to the side, and could that be any more of a damn cliche?

I heard that our client used it as a country home, and after Dad and I did that job for her she had the place remodeled just a bit, just for us. Usually we never get paid, and we never get thanked, but sometimes we do all right. Sometimes.

"Okay, bud. Let's go." Dad opens up his door and pushes himself out. Takes me a little while longer to move; I'm stiff and sore and as soon as I open the door and stand up I feel both knees buckle. I yawn and stretch and try to play it off as I hold onto the door frame.

Did I fool him? Hell _no_. Fool Dad? _My _Dad? He shoots me this look and says, "I'll get the kit."

_Crap._

I know as soon as we get inside he's going to want to play medic, and right now I don't feel like being touched. I've had enough, at least for tonight. I try not to snap but when I answer him my voice is rougher and angrier than I intend it to be: "Thanks anyway, I can do it myself."

Dad stops, tilts his head to one side. He stares at me, and I stare right back at him.

I'm not a kid anymore. Jesus. I can tend to my own wounds.

I break eye contact first as I turn to get my duffel out of the back bench seat. I know I'm being stubborn but I don't give a rat's ass. After the shit I've been through tonight I think I'm entitled to throw a bitch fit.

Dad walks back to the trunk and pulls out the medical kit. He walks to the front door jiggling the keys. I grab his duffel and limp after him.

This is my second time coming up here and there's a lot more to the place on the inside. We've got all the comforts of home and then some. Dad makes a beeline for the kitchen, and I follow him as he goes through the place, switches on the lights in the hallway and the rooms as we pass.

The kitchen's fully stocked, and so is the large pantry with canned goods and stuff. I can cook a little…used to fix meals for me and Sam. Used to cook for Dad when he was home. Dad can't cook worth a damn. He'll burn water, and the only time I ever saw him slaving over a hot stove was when he was melting down silver for bullets.

He puts the kit on the table, goes into one of the overhead cabinets and pulls out this big-bellied blue plastic bottle.

Dad puts it on the table in front of me and it's my turn to look at him funny.

"Holy water," he says simply.

I put my hand out and he puts his hand on the neck, nods at the doorway behind me. "Through there. Bathroom."

I stop and look at the bottle like it's gonna jump off the table and bite me. Flexible plastic, long neck, just wide enough to stick up my -- oh.

_Shit. _

I pull my hand away. "T-That's an enema?"

Fuck, why is my voice squeaking?

"Yep." Dad doesn't blink.

I swallow hard, and my throat and my mouth go dry as a bone. Dad's shoulders start shaking even though he's still got that hole in his shoulder. He flinches a little and stops, but he's still enjoying the hell out of this.

"Just go inside and drink it, Dean," he rumbles. He's just so damn amused.

"Uh, that's not another spew drink, is it?"

"No. Just holy water."

When I reach out for the bottle Dad still doesn't move his hand. He looks me directly in the eyes. "You need to shower," he says, and I recognize the tone. It's not a suggestion, it's an order.

"You know what to use. After that come back out here and I'll patch you up."

I just stare at him. The weight of my clothes hurts my skin. Hell, the weight of air against my skin bothers me.

All I do is blink at him.

"Dean? Did you hear what I said?"

"Yessir." I sway on my feet a little, to the side. Dad's eyes flicker and darken at the slight movement and he frowns. He raises one eyebrow.

"Do you need me to help you?"

_Oh, God. Oh hell no. _I shake my head and drop his duffel at my feet. I slide my game face into place and keep it there. Last thing I need is to have Dad decide it's time for a father-son heart to heart gabfest. Sam's the one who does emo, and damn it, he's not even here.

* * *

Once I'm inside it takes me a while to take off my jacket and the rest of my clothes.

I drink the whole bottle in one chug. It's lukewarm, and it tastes okay. After a minute my eyes widen as something hot and nasty rumbles back up out of my stomach and up my throat, and wouldn't you just know it, it's pea soup time again. I manage to slam the toilet seat up and back in time, and I'm half-kneeling, slipping and sliding on tiptoe, gripping the sides of the porcelain throne. My throat feels like my insides are about to come sliding up and out of my mouth, and my ass is clenched tight.

Oh _yeah_, this is the perfect way to end a sucktastic evening.

Just as I think I couldn't hurl any more, as I'm staggering to my feet my body decides to pull a switch and I piss so much green water I wonder if I could ever drink enough holy water to actually piss on a demon. Might try that next time.

Shower next.

It's not a steam shower, but it'll do. The shower head is one of those expensive brass jobs the size of a dinner plate. Adjustable swing arm. Turn the water on full force, and you've got your own personal monsoon. _Sweet._

The bathroom is stocked with expensive, high end items, just like you'd find in a luxury hotel. Thick towels, all kinds of shampoos, soaps, shower gels and hair conditioners. I pull the caps off several bottles and wrinkle my nose at the smell. Girly.

Sam would love this crap. That's when I realize that he's never been here, and he didn't believe me about how nice the place was when I told him about it.

I look over the rest of the bottles, and the ones I settle on smell good, not _too _wussy. I grab a bottle of the shower gel and a bottle of the shampoo and step into the shower.

One of the water valves is marked "Holy water."

Well, hell. I'd forgotten about _that_ one.

I'm kind of leery using it, seeing as how just drinking the damn stuff went, but I know Dad'll get after me if I don't use it. Besides, I'd rather not have any souvenirs from the rec center after tonight. If I don't use the holy water I might have to deal with the gift that keeps on giving, whatever the hell that would be. No thanks. I turn the holy water on lukewarm and at half force and stick my hand in.

It tingles a little. Doesn't feel bad at all, and there's a slight mist coming out of my skin. I angle the showerhead back, then I walk over to the wall and I turn the spray up some more. The water hits my upper back and shoulders, runs down my chest and legs. I put my palms against the wall for support, and lean into the spray. I close my eyes, lower my head, and let out the breath that I've been holding in.

The muscles in my back and shoulders loosen up. I don't want to move, but I know I'm going to have to, sooner or later. The water flows down my back and my legs in one solid sheet of warm slickness, and it feels good, warm. Not like fingers, or lips.

Or teeth.

I focus on the sound of the water, and it doesn't help. I can still hear all the shit going on inside my head. It's like a room full of crazy drunk people all trying to get my attention all at once.

When I turn around and put my back to the wall there's blood in the water going down the drain. It's not coming from me.

Anne Marie's here.

She looks so damn small now. She's pushed herself into the far corner of the stall, and for some reason I decide to walk towards her. I forget that I'm naked as the day I was born, and she doesn't even notice that. She starts sobbing as she tries to back into the wall, now she's halfway in and halfway out, eyes wide and watery, mouth stretched out as she cries and wails silently. Her hair is a mass of long wet bloody strings on either side of her face. She rocks back and forth and I decide to stop when I'm a few feet away from her. I kneel down and she cringes.

She's afraid.

She's afraid of _me_.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to her. "I never meant for you to get hurt. I never meant any of this. You deserved better..." She's sobbing harder now, and I don't even know if she even hears me. "You have to go now. You have to move on. It's over."

I kneel there, watching her, and the more she sobs the more transparent she gets, until finally she's gone.

Just like that.

I stay there, staring at the spot in the wall a little longer, then I stand up. I stand under the shower head and this time I turn the water on full force.

I try to focus on the good stuff. Mom. Dad. Sammy. My family_ before _the fire.

Believe it or not, at one time my family did normal. The only salt we had in the kitchen was a small box that Mom used to cook with. I remember this bracelet she showed me one time. It had five charms on it, a cross, a pentagram and some other charms. I can't remember what they were now.

I close my eyes, put my face into the shower spray, and the light, clean smell of Mom's hair comes back to me. I remember how her face lit up whenever she looked at me, how she felt when she hugged me. I remember how_ I_ felt.

I felt _normal_. I was _safe_.

Everything was good. I remember that.

I used to ride shotgun in the Impala with her. We'd go shopping, or just joyriding, to the park, or just _out_.

I'd play ball with Dad in the backyard. Dad seemed lighter and brighter those days, too. He'd come into my room after working at the garage and I'd get a bear hug from those big arms of his without even trying. He'd ruffle my hair and make me laugh. "Hey, Bud," he'd say, "what you been up to today?" He'd get all solemn as I tried to tell him, like what I was saying was the most important stuff he'd ever heard.

And Sam? Well, he was just _Sammy_. Too small to do anything but lay in his crib. I used to follow Mom around and just sit there and watch her feed him or wash him up in that kiddie bathtub of his. I'd pull a small chair up to his crib, stand up on it, lean in and let Sam grab my fingers. Kid had a hell of a grip even then.

No way Sam could fit into that little wash tub now. Sasquatch comes in really small packages. Who knew?

He doesn't remember that time. I think he's the lucky one. Sam doesn't even know that I was the one that carried him out of the house that night, not Dad. You can't miss what you don't remember, but Sam does. I don't know why.

I know how quickly normal can be taken from you. In a fucking heartbeat.

After Mom died I didn't talk to anyone or anybody for a while. I thought maybe if I kept quiet that she'd come back, y'know? I made a lot of wishes inside my head. Hey, I was four, all right?

I wished that Dad didn't look so sad and lonely. I wished that we had a home again. I wished that Mom would come walking into Pastor Jim's rectory where we stayed after the fire, and she's alive and beautiful and smiling, her arms opened wide, saying, "It's all right, it was just some silly misunderstanding. I want my boys to come home with me right now."

Sometimes, I wish...

I wish…

Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.

My skull's wide open, and I can't stop this crap from coming out.

By the time I wash my hair and come out of the shower my fingers have pruned up and I feel almost clean again. I said _almost_. I still don't feel quite right in my head.

My mouth tastes like the bottom of a birdcage. I finish off the festivities by gargling with holy water, then I brush my teeth and finish off with mouthwash. Thank God, no more puking…I'm damn sick of the color green.

I towel off, pull on a clean pair of black boxer briefs and head for the kitchen.

I don't really want to, but I got no other place to go.

Dad's got the medical kit open on the kitchen table, and a chair's already been pulled out for me to sit in. From the look of him he's already cleaned himself up, clothes and all, and now he's got his sleeves rolled up. For a moment I get pissed off at him, because he's acting like there was no way I would disobey one of his orders.

Then I get pissed off at myself. I don't know _where_ this damn mood is coming from.

I sit down in the chair and watch as Dad pulls out several thick cotton pads and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out of the medical kit.

"Um...have you seen Sam lately?" I try to sound casual, and my voice sounds hoarse.

Dad's face lights up briefly with a grin. "Two weeks ago. On campus. Why?"

I sound casual about it. "Just wondering." I look past Dad, pretend I'm so damned interested in the painted tiles over the kitchen sink as he steps close to me.

The scratches on my neck, back and shoulders are too shallow for stitches. That gouge on my left calf will probably need some, or at the least, surgical super glue. Bruises? I've got em, all over. Bite marks on my neck and shoulder. A nice goose egg on my right temple.

I bow my head and close my eyes as Dad works the peroxide in. I'm so used to this I don't even flinch as the peroxide bubbles up into streaks of stinging white foam on my skin. Dad's heavy handed with it, but him being that close to me, touching me, doesn't bother me.

I open my eyes when I he pokes at my ribs.

_Hurt me. _

_Bastard's hurt me enough tonight. I'm fucking sick and tired of this…_

My eyes narrow, my head cocks to one side slightly, and I hear myself growl deep in my throat. Dad stops and looks at me, frowning. The next thing I know he's blocking my punches and we're both on our feet moving backwards and I'm trying to force him into a corner.

I don't even remember getting up.

"Dean – "

I never stop hitting him. He keeps blocking me, and it's not fair, I _want_ to hurt him. Somehow Dad slips a good one in and hits me in the face. My head rocks back and I see white stars, and then he's behind me, he wraps his arms around me tight, pins my arms to my sides and that scares me, he's behind me and I can't get him off me, and I hear him saying, "Dean, it's all right, son, it's me," and I can't fight my way clear.

_I know it's you. That's the whole damn problem._ I want to say that out loud, but I'm so pissed off feels like I'm strangling.

Dad sweeps my legs out from under me with his foot and we end up on the floor and he's holding me tight and I can't get up, I can't get away and it dawns on me that the last time he held me close like this was when I was four, right after Mom, after Mom...

"..sorry…" I shake my head as the words tumble out of my mouth. "…'m so fucking sorry…"

Dad starts rocking me, slowly, gently, the way Mom used to when I'd wake up from a bad dream. I'm shaking and trembling and he tells me that it's all right, tells me to relax, over and over again.

I can't.

I want to.

I won't.

I start shaking and trembling as the adrenaline rush leaves me. Everything turns white and the last thing I feel is Dad's arms around me, holding me up, holding me tight.

* * *

_Next chapter will be posted Sunday. _


	11. the hearts and flowers routine

_**A/N:**_ More John comfort, more Dean cussing.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 11 – the hearts and flowers routine**_

I gotta take a leak.

Bladder's full. That's the first thing I notice, even before I open my eyes. Can't see any light through my eyelids, and all I can hear is Dad's voice, but I can't make out the words. It's like he's in the next room or something.

Maybe he's leaving me. Right now. Sounds like he's talking to somebody. Don't know why he's still here. Maybe he's leaving, and I woke up on the tail end of it. How the hell can he trust me? How can he even stand the sight of me after all this?

I lie there for a few seconds more, then decide _fuck it_. Doesn't really matter whether Dad's here or not. I gotta move or I'm gonna piss on myself.

I remember whaling on him in the kitchen. That wasn't Dark, and that wasn't any mind fuck.

That was _me_.

I just didn't want to be touched. Tired of it. Now I just feel tired, like I could sleep for a week.

Dad's gonna leave me, for real and for good. I know he will. And I won't blame him. Not one friggin' bit.

I open my eyes as I sit up. Window shades are wide open; it's near dawn, I think. I see the empty chair by the bed, and the door to the hallway is cracked open. There's a light out there, and I can see part of Dad's shoulder.

He's standing with his back to the door.

I slide out of bed and as soon as my feet touch the floor I know I'm not gonna last long. Oh, hell. I gotta _go_. Right freakin' NOW.

That door on the opposite wall has gotta be the bathroom. I'm scrambling, trying to hold myself in. Floor's hardwood and if I piss on it Dad will probably make me clean it up with a toothbrush. I hit the light switch and grab at the toilet seat lid, kick the door closed behind me.

Yep, this is the place. Feels good to let it out and I'll be damned, I don't see anything green.

I shake myself off, wash my hands. I'm halfway into the room when I remember the noise I made when I closed the fucking door in the first place.

_Damn._

Dad's still out in the hall when I come out. He hasn't moved, and maybe he didn't hear.

_Yeah, right. And pigs fly._

_All the damn time._

I ease up to the door frame, lean over a little, and listen.

"No," I hear Dad rumble. "I can handle this, Jim. Uh huh. He got mind-fucked tonight."

_Damn._ Dad told Pastor Jim?

_Fuck._ I slump against the wall. Yeah, that's right, tell Pastor Jim, Bobby and everybody else that we know how big a fuck-up I am. Spread the word. _Watch your backs if you go on a hunt with this boy. He's not right._

"Fugs got the drop on him, that's all….what? No, I'm not." Dad pauses just a moment. "We're not driving out to Blue Earth. We're fine right where we are." Dad gets quiet, and I can imagine Pastor Jim telling him, "After all that's happened tonight, John, you're going to sleep in the same house with him? Do you really think that's wise?"

"Not gonna argue with you about this, Jim. Dean's fine."

I shake my head. _No. I'm not fine. 'm not…_

I push myself away from the wall just then, and it's a good thing too.

"Call you later on then…" Dad says, and when I hear _that _I dive for the bed. I turn over real quick, pull the covers over me, put my back to the door a split second before the door swings open. I close my eyes, breathe in and out, nice and slow. Maybe I fooled him. Maybe he doesn't know….

"Rise and shine, kiddo," Dad whispers in my ear.

Hell, maybe he _does_.

Damn, I didn't even hear him walk up.

"Get dressed. We're gonna spar."

_Son of a bitch…_

_

* * *

_Five minutes later we're outside, standing underneath this big oak tree in the front yard.

Dad looks tired. Eyes are kinda bloodshot, and he's favoring his hurt shoulder_. Great. Fucking great._ That's not gonna save me. He's gonna kick my ass.

And I'm gonna let him.

I'm not gonna argue with him about this. Why should I? What the hell could I ever say that would even make a difference?

Dad rolls his shoulders, and I don't move, not even when he starts circling to the left. "Come on, Dean," Dad rumbles. "Let it out."

I move to the right, and I can barely raise my arms.

Dad steps in, dodging, weaving. I manage to block as I backpedal. My skin stings like a bitch as he hits me. I don't want this.

I drop my hands. Next thing I know everything goes white around me, and when the fog lifts I'm on my back. Got a pretty good sized bruise on the side of my face, and Dad's standing over me with his hands balled into fists. "Come on, get up. Let's go, Ace. This is no time for a nap."

I get up and get knocked on my ass this time.

_Aw, fuck it._ I sit there with my head bowed and my shoulders down.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Huh, Dad?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I fucked up. _You_ know it. _I _know it. Kick my ass and get it over with." I look up at him, and there it is again, he's looking at me like I've lost my friggin' mind.

Dad stands there like he's giving what I said some real serious consideration. Then he puts his back to the tree, lowers himself slowly to the ground. "Nah. Don't feel like it anymore."

I lift my head up just enough. "Christo."

Dad laughs. Nothing.

I look up at the sky through the tree branches. I always liked dawn. It's a good thing to see, especially after a hunt. Tells you that you made it. Gonna live another day.

"Why are you being so damn nice to me? I fucked up, big time, and you're not gonna…you're not gonna rip me a new one? What's with all the hearts and flowers routine?"

Dad takes a deep breath, puts his back against the tree trunk. "In this line of work, you pay a hard price for mistakes." It's not a Marine lecture. This is something else. I don't know what it is, but I'm starting not to like it. "Sometimes, though, you get a second chance. If you survive those mistakes, your ass better learn from it, so you don't make another one."

"Yeah, well…you never fucked up like this."

"Terry, Oklahoma. Witch hunt, a few years back. You remember that?"

I nod a little. "Sam had the flu." I couldn't go on the hunt because I broke my arm fighting off this damn black dog.

"I got the drop on the hag, but she mind-fucked me before she died. She wanted me to go back and kill the people I loved most in the world. Wanted me to kill you and Sam." Dad shook his head. "I came back that night around midnight, remember?"

I nod slowly.

"I pulled onto the parking lot, and I could see you sitting in the window of your bedroom."

I remember that. Remember sitting there staring out at the parking lot, remember staring at the Impala and hearing her engine and I was so damn glad that he came back. Sam was asleep, and I couldn't sleep because my arm was hurting a little and I was worried about Dad.

"I sat there, and we stared at each other. Remember?"

I couldn't read Dad that night, and it scared me. He just sat there in the car and we stared at each other and I thought maybe he was mad at me 'cause I broke my arm and couldn't hunt.

"You wanna know what stopped me from coming in? You. You did. Seeing you sitting there. That quiet look on your face. I wanted to hurt you and Sam…" Dad shook his head. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't."

I remember.

_Please, Dad, don't leave me. _

Dad backed the car up and drove off.

Sam never woke up. I didn't tell him. Never did. We were okay. We'd be fine. Rent wasn't due again for another couple of weeks, and we had canned goods and some stuff in the refrigerator. I told myself that Dad was coming back. I did.

But I never really believed that, not until I saw him again, ten days later.

"I fought it somehow. Drove all the way to Blue Earth with that damn thing screaming inside my head. Once I got there, Jim knew what to do."

I can't think of anything to say.

"Dean?"

My throat closes up. My mouth's bone dry, feels like I'm strangling.

"What's on your mind, son?"

"Nuh…nothing." I shake my head. I was wrong about that. Just another fucked up notion I had. If I was wrong about that…what other stuff have I been wrong about?

"You were wide open, and they knew it. You stopped yourself, Dean. I could tell. You didn't go as far as they wanted you to." Dad looks at me, and I don't feel like squirming anymore. Can't describe it any better than that.

"I guess you're right."

Dad nods. "Now I don't expect this to happen again."

"Yes sir."

"As far as a punishment for this, well…" Dad smirks a little. "I'll think of something."

All I can do is nod. Oh hell yeah. I bet he will.

Dad flinches a little as he pushes against the tree trunk and gets to his feet. He comes over and leans down with his left hand out.

"Come on, sport. Break time's over. I call do-over."

I take his hand and let him pull me up but as soon as I'm on my feet I see Dad's eyes flicker. I duck the blow he aims at my head and I move backwards. My body feels light and my head's not buzzing like it was before.

Dad grins a little. I'm making him bring the fight to me.

Five minutes later we're standing toe to toe, trading punches. It's me and Dad, and Sam wouldn't get it if he was here. He wouldn't understand about me and Dad, and you know what? I don't expect him to understand. Not anymore.

This is what we are, and that's more than enough for me.

* * *

Next chapter will be posted on Sunday, and I'm going to add one more chapter after that, from John's POV. After that, we're done.


	12. free bird

_**A/N:**_ I just noticed as I'm posting this. _Patricide_ has over one hundred reviews. Thank you all very much!

* * *

_**Chapter 12 – free bird**_

The days at the farmhouse were fine. I had a harder time in the mornings. Kept thinking I'd wake up and find a note on the kitchen table, or a message on my cell. I'd have some kind of special project to keep me occupied until Dad came back, like digging a ditch with a teaspoon, or using my pen knife to make a bear trap out of one of those trees out back. I'd be ditched and having to make do with busy work, instead of out hunting with my Dad, where I want to be.

I try not to think like that. Do I need any more whine with that cheese? We got a job to do. People could be dying out here, or worse, and I'm whining like a little bitch 'cause my daddy left me.

And then I'd wonder why he'd ditch me, wonder if there's something wrong with me in the first place.

I kept myself busy, so busy I didn't have time to think like that. Cleaned everything in the weapons stash, even gave the Impala a tune up. My girl was running kinda rough. Made rock salt cartridges for the shotguns. Hell, by the time I got through we had another duffel bag full of the damn things. Had to fish that extra duffel out of the trunk.

Dad's cell phone went off at least a couple of times that I know of. He'd take the call and move off, away from me, talk so low I couldn't hear what he was saying.

Who the hell am I kidding? I didn't _want_ to hear. It's not like we were joined at the hip or something. I get that. I do.

So I got myself ready for it. I could hear Dark inside my head, laughing.

_Gonna ditch you, Deano. Gonna wake up tomorrow morning and Daddee will be gone bye-bye. See how you feel then. _

Punk bastard.

I had a hard time sleeping some nights. When I woke up in the morning I'd creep through the house.

And Dad was still here.

I played it off. Yawned and acted all nonchalant and shit. Soon as I turned my back on him I started grinning, wide and stupid.

_He didn't ditch me. Damn._

In the morning I'd go into the kitchen, fix breakfast from the stuff we had in the refrigerator. Heat up, mostly, but Dad seemed to like whatever I put on his plate. He never has been fussy like that.

We did stuff together. Real father son stuff, right? I know that sounds lame.

Dad sent me on a search and evade exercise in the woods nearby. I managed to sneak up on him and snag that shirt he left out on a branch as a decoy without getting tagged. Had to run like hell so Dad couldn't catch me. I was sitting on the porch when he came back. I hooked the shirt onto the porch railing and the wind had it up and flapping like a battle flag.

When Dad walked out of the woods I raised the water bottle in my hand as a salute and took a drink.

"Nobody likes a smartass, Dean." He sounded rough, but I could tell he really didn't mind.

We'd go for long distance runs in the woods. We played cards, watched cable. Hey, what was he going to do? Wasn't like he was going to take me to a baseball game out here, right?

Six days later Dad winked at me. "Time to hit the road, Ace."

I wasn't that broken up about leaving. I was getting kinda restless. I feel better when I'm moving, you know? I'm good at lying in wait. Staying put like that in one place? Not so much.

Doesn't mean that I don't dream about home. Back in Lawrence, I mean. I dream about Mom all the time. I remember how it was, how Dad was back then. That's not me anymore. I mean, what are the odds that I'm gonna live to be thirty, or even forty? Or Dad's age? I think about it sometimes, how it would be to live like Joe Normal. Maybe I could get a job working on cars.

I'd like that.

Go to school, maybe. I wonder about that, too. I'm good with my hands. Made an EMF reader out of a busted Walkman we had lying around. I know I'm not as smart as Sam, and my grades in school weren't that good. I got bored easily. I'd stroll into the classroom like I really didn't give a damn, and most of the teachers I had seemed to agree with me. They bought the act. Most of the time they just thought I was a roughneck, a juvie or a neer'do well.

A couple of times I had teachers that weren't fooled. They saw _me_, figured I could do more. That never lasted. Dad would come and pick me and Sam up from school. Another job, another hunt. Another town.

Well, shoulda, coulda, woulda. Too late for that now.

I drove when we left that day. First stop was Blue Earth. I don't know if Pastor Jim wanted to see for himself if I was okay. Probably. He was glad to see me, but I didn't ask him about what happened a couple of years ago. Yeah, he could've called, could've let me know what was going on with Dad. He didn't. Shit happens. No problem.

I can hear Dad now: "Dean can handle things. Don't have to call him."

Okay. I'm fine with that.

Dad and I roamed up and down the eastern seaboard. Word must've gotten out that the Winchesters were a man short, because fuglies were coming out of the freakin' woodwork. Nailed a 'geist in this suburb right outside New York City, ran into this nest of goblins down in New Jersey. I don't know what the fuck goblins were doing in New Jersey, of all places, but people were dying before we got there.

Stopped that shit real quick.

Got a call from one of Dad's ex-Marine buddies. Seems this Devil Dog owned a Thai restaurant in Richmond, Virginia, and there was some weird shit happening at night. Stuff was disappearing in plain sight. When the dude came to open up in the morning the tables and chairs were stuck to the ceiling.

It was hard not to laugh when I saw that.

Turns out it was pixies.

Yeah, _pixies_. I didn't stutter. Turns out they were pissed because the owner wasn't giving them their due. Dad talked to the guy, convinced him to leave out some cheap shiny jewelry, plates of food for the little sonsofbitches.

It worked. Last thing I heard was the restaurant was even more popular than ever. All the pixies wanted was a little gratitude. Sometimes the things we hunt are easier to understand than humans.

Hunted a kappa in South Carolina. Damn thing nearly killed us, but we finally got the bastard. Three days later there was this black dog hanging around this rest stop just inside the George state line. Fido developed a taste for kids. Dad and me put him on a short leash back down to hell quick. The local authorities claimed it was the work of a wild dog pack.

We knew better.

Let's see, there was this vengeful spirit in Alabama, couple more black dogs in Pennsylvania, and I almost forgot that phantom hitch-hiker on Route 9 in Connecticut.

I thought about Sam every day. Little brother had gone normal and that just didn't include me or Dad. I wondered what Sam would do if I showed up on campus one day. That's all that was…wishful thinking. Would he have pretended he didn't see me, would he have cursed me out? When he left he was pissed off at me too. Sam thought I was Dad's "good little soldier", and he just didn't see any farther than that.

I knew Dad was keeping tabs on him, at least, he had been before that business at the rec center. Of course, there wasn't any way I could duck out and spy on the brat, and it didn't seem like we were going to swing by Cali any time soon.

I was up for any and everything Dad came up with. Didn't want to seem weak. That's one thing I can't stand. Being weak. Dad's got enough on his plate every single damn day, without me adding to it. I tried to make Sam understand that, and I woulda gotten more understanding out of a friggin' boulder. Sam had his way of seeing the world and _that_ was _that_. I was either for him or against him, and I'll be damned if he thought I was against him most of the time.

Months passed, and we kept right on rolling.

I remember this one gig in Pennsylvania. Dude's name was Jerry Panowski. He had a 'geist tearing up his house. Real nasty fucker. This was definitely a two man job. Dad and me finally handled it, but what got me was Dad mentioning to Jerry several times that he was really proud of Sam.

If I ever see Sasquatch again I don't know if I'm gonna even mention that. He'd probably think I was lying anyway.

We took the southern route out to the desert southwest. Hunted a bruja in New Mexico. Sam was one state away, and I could tell Dad was thinking about him. I could see it in his eyes.

I didn't have any warning. I got up that morning and I noticed Dad's bed was already made. I knew the drill, checked my cell for messages, and was kinda surprised when there weren't any. No notes on the nightstand, either. About an hour later I looked out the window and sure enough, Dad's climbing out of this big ass black truck.

He walked in a minute later, flipped me the keys to the Impala.

"She's all yours now, Dean. We can cover more ground that way."

Felt like the keys burned my skin when I touched them.

We split up after that.

Felt kinda funny putting just my stuff in the Impala's trunk. I felt hollow inside. Empty. My hands started shaking and for a moment I was afraid that Dad would see that. I got myself together pretty damn quick.

I pulled out first. Hugged the old man, patted him on the back and then away I went. I had my game face on, and I didn't look back.

The good news is, I'm driving the Impala.

The bad news is, I'm driving the Impala and I'm _alone_.

'm headed for Oklahoma City. Dad's headed for Texas. He was all "keep in touch, call me if you need anything," (and I know I better _not _need anything) only this time I'm on my own, for real.

Free as a fucking bird.

I'm thinking that at least now I can go look in on Sam if I have the time between jobs, if I time it right and shag ass. Isn't like Dad's gonna know, right? Hell, he's gonna do the same thing. _Don't ask, don't tell_ is one of our family mottos. Might be fucked up, but there you have it.

I'm okay. I'm all right. Couldn't expect to ride with Dad forever. We got a job to do out here, remember? Saving people, hunting things.

I got work to do.

* * *

Tuesday: one more chapter from John's POV. And after that, we're finished, folks.


	13. family remains

_**A/N:**_ This is John Winchester's POV, pre-series. Now, I'm pretty sure that Big John realized the error of his ways by the time "In My Time Of Dying" rolled around. Remember he told Dean: "I made you grow up too fast." Before then? John didn't have a clue. This is _not_ a John bash. I love him, and I miss him, but John's parenting skills were not the best. Dude did the best he could in a bad situation, but sometimes I would dearly love to bitchslap him into the middle of next week.

_**A/N #2:**_ I have to think that at some time in his young life Dean was diagnosed by the good folks from Children and Family Services. They probably go by a different name in your state. From Wikipedia, re: Attachment Disorder: "Boris and Zeanah also describe a condition they term _**"secure base distortion"**_. In this situation, the child has a preferred familiar caregiver, but the relationship is such that the child cannot use the adult for safety while gradually exploring the environment. _**Such children **_may endanger themselves, _**may cling to the adult, may be excessively compliant, or may show role reversals in which they care for or punish the adult**_."

The third type of disorder discussed by Boris and Zeanah is termed _**"disrupted attachment"**_. This type of problem, which is not covered under other approaches to disordered attachment, _**results from an abrupt separation or loss of a familiar caregiver to whom attachment has developed**_. The young child's reaction to such a loss is parallel to the grief reaction of an older person, with progressive changes from protest (crying and searching) to despair, sadness, and _**withdrawal from communication or play**_, and finally detachment from the original relationship and recovery of social and play activities."

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 13- Family Remains**_

Knew something was wrong that night when Dean didn't answer his cell.

I expect that kind of thing from Sam. But Dean? No. Even if he'd found some young lady to spend the night with, he'd stop what he was doing, come when I call, stay put when I tell him to.

Sam used to bitch at me about not answering my cell right away. I don't need to take every call. This ain't no democracy, folks.

Dean gets it. Sam never did.

There was a moment when I thought I'd never get him out of that rec center. Thought I'd lost him for good. That wild look in his eyes…Dean's never looked at me like that. Didn't dawn on me until later that he'd been mind-fucked. Thought there was a demon inside him at first.

The things he said to me?

"_How the hell would you know this isn't me? I'm just an extra pair of hands, right? Go here, do this, kill that."_

Whatever poison they pumped into him had my boy twisted all around.

Should have known, though, he'd be wide open for something like that. Dedan hasn't been right since Sam left. Wasn't like I didn't see that coming.

Never would let on, but I was scared shitless too. Sam out there in the world, looking for normal, when we know normal's just an illusion. The idea that I couldn't protect him anymore…I couldn't let on that it scared me. We're family. We're supposed to stick together. Sam knows what's out there, _he knows_, but he_ still_ decided to leave.

"You walk out that door, Sam, don't bother to come back." I said it, and I meant it at the time.

The fights were getting louder and longer. Toilet paper, motel rooms, food, I mean damn near everything. He bitched at me just for the sake of bitching. I knew the first argument we had wasn't gonna be the last, and it only got worse, year after year. That damn growth spurt of his only made it worse. He wasn't _Sammy_ anymore, he was_ Sam_, and he'd stand there with his chin stuck out like he was daring me to take a swing at him. His hands were balled into fists and I swear to God I wanted to kick his ass.

Sam pushed, fought me on damn near everything. I pushed back, and Dean usually got in the middle.

We packed up the morning after Sam left. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could feel something in the air. Dean was quiet, too quiet. You have to understand, the only time this kid is quiet is when he's asleep or knocked cold. That morning he moved around the house like a ghost as he packed everything up. Reminded me of the way he went quiet after Mary died. Whatever this was bothered the hell out of me. We were loading up the Impala, and I decided to force the issue, get it all out in the open. I needed Dean sharp for the hunt. We weren't taking this crap out on the road with us.

"You got something to say to me?"

Dean stood there with his duffel on his right shoulder. He looked me right in the eyes and he didn't blink. "No sir."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes sir. I'm sure."

Dean hides a lot. I know that. Does it bother me? A little. Sometimes I look at him and I wonder exactly what's going on inside that head of his.

Never had that problem with Sam. I _always_ knew what was on his mind, especially later.

I've walked in on Dean taping himself up after a hunt. "It's just a broken finger, Dad." That's what he'd say. "It's no big deal. I zigged when I shoulda zagged."

Broken ribs another time.

He sprained his right ankle dodging a dining room table this 'geist threw at him one time. Couldn't hide the way he limped around. Tried to play it off as a muscle cramp until I grabbed him and played medic.

This isn't the life I wanted for my boys, but it's the only life we've got now. We don't have normal. Never will. Normal died the night Mary did.

Sometimes I wonder what she would think if she saw the way we live now.

Hardest time was after she died. Everybody was coming up to me trying to tell me that I didn't see what I saw that night, that Mary couldn't have been stuck on the ceiling over Sammy's crib. Got to the point that I wanted to believe what they told me. I wanted to, but I couldn't.

I know what I saw.

Dean did exactly what I told him to that night. He took Sam and ran out of the house. That's the way he's been from then on.

He got quiet after Mary died. Didn't say a word for months. The social workers were talking bullshit. "Secure base distortion." "Disrupted attachment." That was crap, and I knew it. Dean got himself together, just like I knew he would. Dean's solid. Dependable. He's always got my back. Mine and Sam's.

That business in Fort Douglas? That was the first and only time Dean ever disobeyed a direct order of mine. I told him to stay with Sam. He didn't. Sam almost died that night.

I depended on Dean. Depended on him to watch Sam, to guard whatever place we were holed up in at the time.

I went out hunting that Shtriga and when I came back it was in the damn apartment, it had Sam and all I could think about was I was gonna lose Sam to these damn things and it was all because Dean had fucked up, big time. He didn't do what I told him to, and Sam nearly paid the price.

I dropped them off with Jim Murphy in Blue Earth after I drove the damn thing off. I went back out on the hunt, and the damn thing had disappeared. I gotta admit I didn't want to hear Jim's thoughts on the matter when I came back. Dean was only nine years old at the time, but he's_ my_ son. I trained him, but he fucked up anyway. Dean knows better. Jim was of the opinion that Dean had learned his lesson.

I made damn sure he did.

Making him do drills to punish him wouldn't have worked. Had to be something that would hurt him more.

I gave him the cold shoulder for six weeks. I did it for his own good.

I never had any problems with Dean.

Didn't want to start having any. If that sounds harsh, I don't give a damn.

I need to know that Dean will do _what_ I say, _when_ I say, no questions asked. He's not going to be a victim out here, and neither is Sam, not if I have anything to do about it.

You think I don't remember how Dean was when he was little? Kid had a smile that could light up a room. He was a handful, always crawling around the house, getting into everything. He made Mary laugh. He could always make me feel better after a hard day. That's something that's never changed.

I've staggered back to wherever we called home at night or in the morning, cut and bruised and beat all to hell, wiped out by the things I saw, the things I had to do to stay alive.

Dean would always meet me at the door. Even when he was little, he'd tell me "It's okay, Dad. It's okay." He'd go get a wet towel and wipe the blood and muck off my face.

Later on, when he was older, he'd patch me up, take me to the hospital when I needed it.

He was always there, for me, and for Sam. He'd sleep in Sam's crib, curled up around the boy.

Dean understands. I could leave him and Sam alone, in an apartment, in a cabin, motel room, where ever, while I went hunting, sometimes for a couple of weeks at a time, and things were always fine when I got back. Dean took care of Sam while I was gone, always made sure he was safe and fed. "Take care of your brother." That's what I told him, and that's what he's always done.

Sam hated being on the road. Dean never minded. Never complained. Not once.

After Sam left for Stanford I left Dean in the middle of the night a few times. I'd get a call and I'd have to go. Might be a lead on the Demon. Or somebody needed help.

Dean was awake sometimes. I could tell by the way he breathed. Nobody else could tell, but I could. Never said a word. I think that was his way of telling me that he'd be fine, everything was okay. I noticed after we got clear of the rec center he got spooked several times; I could see it in his eyes. He couldn't hide it, seemed convinced that I was going to ditch him.

That was the mind fuck talking. I can leave Dean on his own, and he does just fine.

Even though he was kicking my ass that night, I gotta admit I was kind of proud of him back there. He's got all the moves I taught him and then some, all right. I don't doubt Dean's ability to hunt, to take care of himself and Sam. Dean's better than I ever thought he would be. I knew that from the first time I taught him to shoot. He aced all ten bottles on that wall.

As good as he is, Dean's got to be better. I'd push him, and he seemed to thrive on the extra attention. He can improvise like a mad sonofabitch on hunts, and that scares the hell out of me sometimes. The thing is, what he does, works. He's got an instinct for the job, and I can't argue with that. Sometimes we get wrong intel on the situation _and _the fugly. Sometimes, no matter how well you do the research things aren't what they seem to be. Some fuglies evolve. They change. Don't like to think about _that_, but it happens.

It happens more often than I really want to think about.

* * *

Pastor Jim called again to check on us at the farmhouse. He seemed relieved when he found out that Dean hadn't bashed my head in or slit my throat. Heard from Bobby Singer and a couple of other hunters. I had feelers out about that Demon I was tracking. Nothing came up, so I didn't have to leave. Dean needed the extra time to get himself together.

It happens like that sometimes, a lot of down time after a job. Funny how things worked out like that.

Kate called twice. She just wanted to talk about Adam, wanted to know when I was coming by again. Would I have left if she needed me? No question about that. I could have left Dean there at the farmhouse for a month and he would have been fine when I got back.

I don't want it to be like this. I don't. I love my sons. I don't want to lose anyone else that I love. Dean's already in the life, and he's not going to leave it. I'll protect Sam as much as I can. I can't help but think that he won't find what he's looking for at Stanford.

I pray to God that what I'm looking for doesn't find _him_.

I feel like I betrayed Mary somehow. I can make all the excuses in the world, that I was injured and lonely, and all that doesn't change the fact that Kate and I have a son. I'm not in his life as much as I should be, but Adam's_ not_ going to be a hunter. I'll see to that.

* * *

The jobs seemed to find us when we got back out on the road. Black dogs, spirits, 'geists. You name it and we hunted it down.

Rick Morse called me about those pixies one day. Made me laugh when I heard it. At first we didn't know what we were really dealing with, but I got a clue when the pranks started out non-lethal and stayed that way. Later on Morse looked at me all wide-eyed and said, "This is what you and your kid do all day, all the time?"

I just nodded. "Yep."

"Oh."

We didn't kill anything that time. That was the exception. We got busy and got bloody everywhere else.

Dean knows what I want him to do, and I don't have to say much. Most of the time I don't have to say anything at all. I've saved his ass on several occasions, but believe me, he's saved mine too. I've trusted Dean with my life. Goes without saying. Hell yeah, I love him. Maybe I don't say it as much as I should, but we can't afford to get soft. Sometimes I think about all that girly stuff Sam talks about. Feelings. They don't do much good out here.

And then sometimes I say "to hell with it", grab whichever kid is closest and hug the hell out of him.

And then send them off on a two mile run.

First time I did it Dean squawked, but he didn't pull away from me. He never does, no matter how old he gets.

Let's just say I could get away with that when _Sam_ was _Sammy_, and leave it at that.

* * *

I've heard all the talk I ever want to hear about Heaven and the Pearly Gates. Pastor Jim means well, but I don't want to listen about things like that. Mary's gone now. She's gone and she's not coming back, and the only thing I can do is hunt down the bastard that killed her. I don't want to just send him back to hell.

I want to annihilate the fucker. Completely.

Finally got some solid leads on the bastard. This Demon is one nasty sonofabitch. I've never seen anything like this before.

I bought the truck, gave Dean the keys to the Impala and all the information he needs about his job. He knows the drill and he's got my cell phone. He'll keep in touch. We can split up now, cover more ground that way. It's better if Dean goes his own way. I can't make the moves I would ordinarily make if I had to worry about him.

Kid's solid, steady as a rock. He left first, and he never looked back.

Don't know how I could do this without him. I know sometimes I'm hard on him, but it's life and death out here, and worse.

My boy's tough.

Dean can take it. I know he can.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Well, that's it. _Patricide _is officially complete. Hope you enjoyed it, Phoebe! I appreciate all the attention this fic attracted. I'm very glad you guys enjoyed it, and a big thank you to everybody who read and reviewed and lurked!


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